


All This And Heaven, Too

by Zombubble



Series: Dragonflies [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Bonding, Childhood Trauma, Cuddles, Finally, Fluff to come, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, King Katsuki Yuuri, M/M, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Prince Katsuki Yuuri, Russian Nationals, School Trip, Secret Identity, but hanazakari is from his bodyguard's, death mention, discussion of trauma (brief), i know it says yuuri pov only, parent death - just before fic, still yuuri-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 19:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14026677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombubble/pseuds/Zombubble
Summary: After fifteen years under the strict control of Akitsushima's royal palace while in hiding, Crown Prince Yuuri just wants two things in life: to stop hiding, and to gohome.Well, since Viktor's come along, he's wanted three things, and the Palace, with all of their supposed well-meaning, have pushed the limits of what he sees as "reasonable restrictions." If he's being honest with himself, he's not entirely sure there's nothing sinister going on. Yuuri had never allowed himself to be the stubborn type, always listening without question to the palace's orders. He'd never allowed himself to get too involved with others, and he'd certainly never expected to fall in love, but he did.Complacency is not an option. If Yuuri wants to do his duty without compromising his love, he's in for the fight of his life.Companion/Side Story toThe Nature of Things.





	1. The Precipice of Change

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from [All This And Heaven Too by Florence + The Machine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNE2meQCI-Q)
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>  
> 
> **This story is a companion to[The Nature of Things,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548/chapters/30259071) covering bits and pieces of Yuuri's life from his childhood, through meeting and falling in love with Viktor, and some alternate-perspective stuff from TNOT. While the main plot of TNOT is heavily involved in much of this story, All This And Heaven Too won't cover the overarching plot enough to get a general idea, but will, instead, be supplemental.**
> 
>  
> 
> Updates will be irregular, timed around TNOT and [Closets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455048/chapters/30842814) and won't be chronological (but will be clearly labelled!!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was never supposed to happen like this, but now Yuuri’s king of a country he hasn’t seen since he was eight years old, jetlagged, and kept away from his boyfriend in favor of the worst series of meetings of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **01: The Precipice of Change takes place during and after[TNOT Chapter 6: The Crowd Would Sing,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548/chapters/32094009) starting when Viktor and Yuuri are separated.**

“The king is dead!”

The words pierce Yuuri’s chest like a knife, sharp and twisting and colder than steel. It’s hard to resist the urge to close his eyes, harder still not to just bolt into the nearest bathroom and empty his stomach until there’s nothing left.

He knew this was coming.

He’s known for months that he’d be taking the kingship within the year, for weeks that it was likely to be within a few months.

He’s known since the airport that it’d be within the day, and now…

He’d had mere minutes.

“Long Live the King!!” The Captain of the King’s Guard shouts, voice filling the small room.

“Long Live the King!!” The people echo.

At that, everyone falls to their knees, and Yuuri meets Viktor’s eyes just before he’s pulled to kneel as well. Somehow, that makes everything worse. Viktor stares at him for a second, dumbfounded, scared, and if Yuuri thought he’d had too little time to prepare… Viktor had figured it out in the airport, with no time whatsoever in between learning the truth and being thrown headlong into it. No time to get ready to _see_ Yuuri as royalty, much less to see him assume the monarchy.

He’d never wanted it to happen like this.

 

There’s a flurry of activity, staff members rushing around in all directions as the Royal Guard surrounds Yuuri. He glances back at Viktor, pleading silently for him to stay, to wait for an explanation, to not abandon him to this life that’s so familiar, yet so incredibly foreign. Guards forming a solid wall around him, there’s no way to push through, to grab Viktor, to seize the comfort he so desperately needs right now. It’s useless anyway, Viktor’s been pulled away to who-knows-where, and Yuuri has a series of emergency meetings to attend at some point. Looking once more at his father, he takes in the familiar face, the ghost of the smile he’d seen when his father had recognized him lingers on the now-slack jaw. This will be the last time he sees him before the funeral, before he’s standing in front of the people he’s meant to rule and somehow expected to hold himself together.

He was supposed to have time to say _goodbye._

Closing his eyes, he swallows thickly. A Crown Prince…

A _King…_ does not cry. Not in public.

He’s king now, and a sudden spike in his already sky-high anxiety leaves him fighting the urge to bolt into the nearest passage and get blissfully lost, to run down to the kitchens like he used to in search of something comforting and warm. It’s too much, it’s all too much, and there’s a rush of voices as he’s pulled down the hallway. A door to a nearby sitting room opens, and he sees a doctor walk out, holding a box of tissues, followed by a shorter woman.

His mother. She takes one look at him and her face crumbles, only for an instant before she assumes the mask she wears in public. There’s a shout, and Mari comes running over, out of breath and with tears streaking her face, and as she stops in front of him Yuuri sees her hands twitch, her arms move to reach for him before she remembers what just happened. Before she remembers who he is now, and what rules there are regarding propriety. She shares a look with Hiroko, and Yuuri closes his eyes in dread. He knows what comes next, knows that when they bow it’s going to become all too real, but he forces himself to unglue his eyes just the same, allowing his body to take on the expected air of authority. Regardless of how he feels, he has to at least _look_ like he’s keeping it together, like he’s in charge.

_(He is.)_

Standing straight, he gives a nod as the attendants and doctor who weren’t in the room when his father died all prostrate themselves deeply, holding the position for a second. Looking back at his family, swallowing his grief and his anxiety and the sheer terror of being left to rule a country at the age of twenty-three, he allows his eyes meet his sister’s, and then his mother’s, before they, too, bow. It’s a short but obvious lowering of the head and shoulders, a clear sign of deference to their new sovereign.

Thankfully, it’s not long before his mother straightens, dismissing non-essential staff. She links her arm with Yuuri’s, while Mari goes to his other side and takes his hand, and they walk the short distance to the Queen’s Sitting Room. The doors are opened for them, and then closed, and Yuuri feels himself guided to a nearby couch. His mother calls for tea while Mari sits next to him, sinking into the plush cushions as she holds his hand.

Hiroko takes a seat on his other side, sitting so she’s facing him and leaning against the arm of the sofa before she pulls him towards her. Mari leans against him as well, wrapping her arms around him, and the tears start running down his face as he sinks into the warmth of a touch he’s been desperate for since he was eight years old. Sobs wrack his body as his family cries with him, as his mother runs her fingers through his hair whispering comfort, speaking softly about how much she loves him, how much she’s missed him, how proud she is of him. Unable to do anything but cry into her shoulder, he listens to her words, her voice more comforting than ever now that there’s no electronic distortion. He’s missed them both so much, so _incredibly_ much in the years he’s been gone, and he knows they’ve missed him too.

Tea is brought, the attendant setting the pot and cups on the table before backing out of the room. Mari pours as Hiroko rubs Yuuri’s back in soothing circles. Crying slowed to the occasional hiccup, he sits up slowly. When he goes to rub his eyes, Mari grabs his hands gently.

“Aren’t you wearing contacts, Yuuri?” she asks, voice soft. He nods. How he forgot is a mystery, but the reminder is appreciated nonetheless. She looks at him, her own eyes red and wet as she dabs his cheeks with a tissue.

“I'm not five,” he mutters without conviction, but he makes no move to stop her. He’s missed her too much. She hesitates briefly, but continues when he presses his cheek into her hand. Smiling, she kisses him on the opposite cheek when she’s done.

“Have some tea, Yuuri-kun,” Hiroko says kindly. “You too, Mari-chan.”

“Kaa-san,” Yuuri says, “can I go get Vitya?”

Glancing at the clock, Hiroko sighs. “I’m afraid we have meetings to go to, planning to do. We’d been anticipating having a few more days to discuss everything and get your wardrobe commissioned, but with circumstances being how they are, much of the planning will need to be done tonight and tomorrow.”

Nodding, Yuuri takes his teacup and takes a sip. It’s a jasmine green, hot and soothing, and he adds just a bit of honey to sweeten it. “Do I need to change?” He looks at Hiroko. She probably doesn’t care that he’s in jeans and a t-shirt, but the officials they’re meeting with likely will, and she nods.

“I’ll go find you something of your father’s,” she says softly. “He was about your size when he was younger.”

“Kaa-san?” Yuuri asks.

“Hm?”

“Can you… can you ask for coffee? Please? Sugar and cream to go with?”

“Pastries, too,” Mari says. “Yuuri likely hasn’t eaten since he got on the plane.”

Yuuri considers glaring at her, but she’s right and she knows it. Hiroko smiles. “Of course. Anything else?”

Looking up, Yuuri nods. “Umm, I… Someone needs to take food to Vitya, he hasn’t eaten either. Something hearty. Soup, maybe, or stew? He likes stew. Can we get him stew? And some rolls, too.”

Nodding, Hiroko looks at him fondly. “I’ll have them take him some stew and rolls.”

“I’ll send for him when I can. Have them tell him that too, please.”

“I’ll make sure they do,” she says, before vanishing out the door.

 

Mari smiles at Yuuri, reaching her hand forward to brush his hair out of his face. “You’ve gotten so _big,”_ she says softly. Looking down at himself, Yuuri tries to see things from her point of view. When he’d left, he was eight years old. Almost four feet tall and weighing in at roughly fifty pounds, there wasn’t much to him back then. Going from that to seeing him now, almost six feet in height and with considerably more muscle must be a shock. As much as he’d missed in his family’s lives, they’d missed a lot of his.

“Maybe you’ve just shrunk,” he replies, sipping his tea. An attendant brings coffee and pastries on a tray, placing it on the table next to the teapot, and he quickly exchanges his teacup for a mug of rich, warm coffee. Adding sugar and cream, he takes a sip and sighs happily.

“I didn’t realize you loved coffee so much,” Mari says.

“Mmmm,” Yuuri responds, “I _did_ work at a café.”

“You what?”

He’d never told them _where_ he worked. He’s not even sure he’d ever been allowed to tell them he’d gotten a job _at all._ Looking at her sheepishly, he smiles. “I uh, found a job at this café in Detroit called The Daily Grind,” he says. “I worked there for a few years. It was great, I learned how to make all different kinds of coffee and tea and… and that’s where I met Vitya.” Smiling, he takes another drink. The coffee is warm, almost too hot, but the taste is more comforting than he’d thought it would be.

“You actually got a job? Like, work-work?”

Yuuri nods. “I wanted to see what it was like. To see how normal people lived.” Taking another sip he frowns, adds more coffee and sugar, and stirs.

“On top of getting your degree?”

He looks over. “Plenty of people do it. I’ve met people who had kids _and_ went to school _and_ worked full-time. I worked part-time and had like, two classes. The rest of the time I was just at home or the rink, but I really did enjoy my job. It was interesting! I met all sorts of people, honestly, and I have a few ideas about how we could improve things here, for people of lower incomes.”

Giving him a pensive look, Mari sips her tea. “Be careful, Yuuri,” she says. “You know what happened with Ojii-sama when he tried to change things too quickly.” They’d always suspected his grandfather’s death wasn’t entirely natural, and it’s a sobering reminder.

“Mari, I spent a decade and a half living in the United States because someone thought _dad_ was moving too fast. I’m well aware of the care I need to take.” _Especially since they’d never figured out who exactly was behind the attack that resulted in him going into hiding._ He drains his cup and pours another, adding sugar and cream again. He grabs a croissant while he’s at it, taking a tentative bite. It’s dry in his mouth, though the flavor is good, and he knows much of the problem is his nerves rather than the quality of the food.

Hiroko comes back shortly, black pants and a blue and silver shirt draped over one arm, socks and a pair of split-toed boots in her other hand. She lays the clothes out on an armchair for Yuuri to put on when he’s ready. He sighs. It doesn’t take long to gel his hair in the bathroom like he does— _did_ — for work, wearing only his jeans. Tradition demands a topknot for the monarch, but his hair’s too short to do anything but stick out every which way when he pulls it back. He doesn’t particularly _want_ long hair, now that he thinks about it, but for now he’ll keep letting it grow.

He first pulls on his dark grey undershirt, fitted sleeves soft against his arms as he wraps it around his chest, tying it closed. Over that, the blue kimono-style shirt, bell sleeves and the left flap embroidered with delicate silver. The coloring reminds him of Viktor. Probably alone in whatever bedroom he’s been taken to. Probably scared, or angry, or disappointed, or booking his next flight back to Detroit because Yuuri’s apparently the kind of boyfriend who would lie to him, even if it wasn’t by choice. He takes a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to have an anxiety attack minutes before he meets with the cabinet for the first time.

Three months of fighting the security team to get clearance to tell Viktor who he was and they still couldn’t get their shit together well enough to give him permission to say anything before the trip. Even after they landed, even when Yuuri knew they’d be going straight to the palace and Viktor finding out was an inevitability, he was still warned off of saying anything, told that the Guard would be watching his every move. He exchanges his jeans for the looser traditional pants vaguely reminiscent of Japanese hakama, tying the belt closed before putting split-toed socks on over the bottoms. His boots, leather jika tabi, go over those, and finally he’s deemed ‘acceptably dressed’ as far as the cabinet is concerned.

Checking his hair in the mirror one last time and making sure the cold washcloth he’d used to reduce swelling in his eyes did its job, he folds his jeans and t-shirt, laying them over his arm. One last glance at the mirror leaves him taken aback. The difference in his appearance is striking. The clothing isn’t as comfortable as he remembers it being, years of jeans and t-shirts and hoodies having drastically altered his idea of “comfortable,” but it’s familiar. It feels like home, in a way, as strange as it is in the moment.

Yuuri exits the bathroom to see Hiroko and Mari sitting on the couch together. They smile when they see him, and he does his best to return it. Standing, Hiroko looks him over once. Eyes glistening, she takes his hands in hers, before pulling him into a hug. It’s a long moment before her arms loosen.

“You’ve grown up so much, Yuuri-kun,” she says, sadness coloring her voice. She reaches up, cupping his cheek in her hand, rubbing it with her thumb. Visibly restraining tears, she gives him another appraising look before letting out a sigh. “The cabinet should be here soon. Would you like to sit here while we wait, or should we head to the conference room?”

“Here is fine,” Yuuri responds quietly. They spend a few quiet minutes together, Yuuri’s mind racing as he tries to process everything that’s gone on, and all too soon a cabinet aide is there to summon them to the series of meetings he doesn’t want to go to, isn’t sure he can face. Nodding grimly, he stands, taking the opportunity to hug his mother and sister one last time before they’re in front of the cabinet.

 

The walk to the conference room is short, and each seat around the table has in front of it a folder. To the side, an attendant waits next to a cart with coffee on it, ready to serve once the meeting gets underway. As Yuuri enters, the cabinet members stand in unison. After telling the attendant his coffee preferences, he walks to the tall leather chair at the end of the table, embroidered with his family crest at the head. When he turns to the room, the cabinet members bow, holding it for a second before straightening up while Mari and Hiroko take their places at his sides. Hiroko gently nudges his foot with her own, and he sits quickly, remembering no one else can be seated before he is.

There’s a stifled snort, and whispering behind hands. His first cabinet meeting since he arrived and they’re _already_ laughing at him, _already_ seeing him as a joke. An excellent start to his reign. He takes a deep breath. Minako-sensei hasn’t spent the majority of her time training him for nothing. It’s time to prove that.

“Esteemed members of the cabinet,” he starts, voice ringing clearly through the room despite dark creeping in at the edges of his vision, “I regret that our first meeting is held under the shadow of the recent passing of my father. I wish to express my most _sincere gratitude_ for your understanding as I get accustomed not only to my position as _king,_ but to being back at court after such a regrettably long absence. Despite the circumstances, I ardently hope that we will be able to come together, improve upon my father’s work, and bring Akitsushima into a new, prosperous age.” Heart pounding a rhythm on his ribs, he meets each person’s gaze as he scans his eyes across the room, and knows he’s made his point.

_I’m back. I’m educated. I’m ready._

_And I’m not going to take your shit._

Mari nods at him, when he looks at her, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. He’s doing well, apparently. Now if only he could _feel_ like it.

 

The meeting is mostly introductory, each member explaining who they are and what they do. He knows much of this, Minako’s been incredibly thorough, but he listens just the same, making sure to ask pointed questions about their recent work. It’s clear they expected him to flounder, to need to catch up, but he’s spent more time than ever recently under Minako’s tutelage and he’s reaping the benefits now. Quickly, their tone becomes slightly less condescending, they start talking to him like he actually knows what he’s doing, and he makes absolutely sure they have no reason to think him incapable.

Once he’s done with the cabinet and they’ve left, there’s a brief lull in activity. The room is silent as he leans towards Mari, whispering in her ear, “I'm gonna grab more coffee, ok?”

She frowns. “Yuuri, just ask for it,” she says, with a glance at the attendant in the corner. He sighs and lifts his hand, calling the attendant to him.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“More coffee, please, if you would,” he says.

With a slight bow, they take his mug, bringing it back promptly, full and hot.

“Thank you.” When he takes a sip, he sighs happily. It’s perfect, definitely highly-caffeinated, and likely not good for his nerves but they can’t get much worse than they already are so he doesn’t hesitate to take another sip.

The clock chimes midnight as the event planners for the funeral enter. Much of what they say blurs together, names and places, the process, the procedures. Yuuri knows all this. Minako had sat him down and discussed how he wanted to address the fact that he was becoming king sooner rather than later. They’d agreed practice was essential, that he ought to learn what would be expected of him at the funeral, what would be expected at the coronation. He’d had it drilled into his head enough that he’d be more than capable of doing it in his sleep, if it came to that. Which is why he doesn’t feel bad when he realizes it’s been almost an hour of him replying automatically to everything the planners have been telling him.

Pulling himself back into the conversation, he manages to answer their questions for him, ask the few that he has, and they move on to the coronation. With each sentence, each _word_ his stomach sinks closer to the floor, the gaping hole in his chest being wrenched open little by little, and it’s all he can do by the end to not snap at them. To not run, not cry, not let himself appear as anything less than the monarch he is.

Even monarchs should be permitted to cry and it's not _fair._ Not fair that Yuuri's world has been upended, that he's lost his father, lost what freedom he had, and has to rule at twenty-three. It's not fair that he has to pretend that he's _fine_ with it, that it's not tearing him up inside.  
  
It's not fair that the world has to— _wants to—_ pretend he's fooling them.

 

~*~

 

Two a.m. brings with it a location shift. Mari guides him down the halls silently to meet with the consultants for his wardrobe, and his heart plummets as they walk into his dad’s office. The _King’s_ Office. _His._ Taking a seat at the tall leather chair behind the desk, he runs his hands along the cherrywood, the smooth, intricate metalwork inlaid around the edges and on the faces of the drawers. The drawers have been emptied, for the most part, of anything aside from generic office supplies, but when he opens the shallow drawer in front of him tears again start prickling in the corners of his eyes.

Laying in the corner, next to the pad of paper embellished with the family crest and his new pens lying nestled in the plush black velvet of their cases, is a dusty crushed-velvet bag he remembers with vivid clarity. Pulling it out with shaking hands, he tries to swallow the sob that crawls from his throat anyway as he clutches it to his chest. He can feel the hard candies inside, his favorites as a child because they were the ones his father would give Mari and him when they came in to visit.

It’s candy he hasn’t properly tasted in fifteen years, because it never tasted quite right without his father’s loving, yet tired smile. He’d still cried when Minako had brought him some from Sachima the one time she’d visited after his high school graduation. On the bag had been written, in sharpie, “We’re so proud of you,” though there were no identifying signatures. It had been a small bag, but Yuuri had made it last for years, savoring each piece as a sort of reward when he was feeling proud of himself, or a source of comfort during the worst of the homesickness.

Small hands cover his, and he feels his mother’s lips on his forehead. He doesn’t remember her hands being this small, somehow it feels like they should almost dwarf his, and it’s another jarring reminder of just _how long_ he’s been gone. How much growing he’s done away from his family. “Fall apart later, Yuuri-kun,” she says gently. He can hear the tears under the surface, the barely-there hitch in her throat. She squeezes his hands again. “Fall apart later. For now, you need to be strong.”

Nodding, he swallows his sadness, swallows his grief in the same way he’s been doing it the past few months and his stomach threatens revolt. It’s impossible to remember a time nausea hasn’t been a constant presence, waiting for the wrong taste, the wrong texture, the wrong sort of inhale, to send him sprinting into the bathroom. Phichit had taken to making soups for dinner. It’s all he could keep down. Here, though, he can’t afford to keep sprinting into the bathroom, can’t afford to take the time every few hours to sit in front of the the toilet, hoping he can somehow avoid emptying his stomach.

 _Fall apart later._ He forces his breathing under control, holds the bag in his trembling hands as he takes in the detail of it, the embroidered gold on the rich green velvet, the golden pull-cording that works as a closure. Tempted to reach inside, he sighs instead. Barely holding it together as it is, he needs to avoid anything that could push him over the edge, and he’s not sure he could handle _seeing_ the candy, much less tasting it. Running his fingers over it once more, he pushes it back into the drawer, back to where it’s been since he was a child. Where it will stay.

He barely has time to blow his nose and deposit the tissue before the wardrobe consultants come in. With them they have binders of designs, swatches of fabric, for everything from his everyday court wear to his pajamas to formal event outfits. The most important outfits, the ones they discuss first, are those for the funeral and coronation. The ceremonial wear in which he will be reintroduced to his people and the rest of the world, in which he will take the mantle of king, and giving off the right impression is critical. They examine and discuss designs, various cuts and features of each style from the more traditional types that resemble the clothing’s Japanese origins, to more slim-cut designs made for everyday comfort. He won’t get anything _too_ modern, especially not for more formal occasions, but he chooses newer cuts just the same.

They run through fabrics for his undershirts, long-sleeved and snug against his body and arms to go under the bell sleeves of the kimono-style overshirts. He runs his fingers over different swatches, first for the thicker sleeves he’ll want in winter, some designed with samples of thumb holes to go under gloves, then to the thinner, slightly looser fabrics for spring. Summer and fall will be designed much later, especially as he’s getting a new wardrobe made, not just updates to an existing one. It’s fortunate that Minako had measured him before he’d left, so they had pattern design down on his arrival. He’s given an estimate of how long it’ll take for him to get his full wardrobe, and is content to let them take in some of his father’s shirts and pants as an emergency measure. At least he’ll have things to wear.

The tailor leaves. A woman comes to discuss protocols, how he’s expected to act at court, but she cuts herself off, swallowing when he fixes her with a steely glare and reminds her that he’s been under Minako’s tutelage for the last seven years. Unless, of course, she doesn’t think that’s good enough. Naturally, he delivers the messages in the style of the court. Thinly-veiled warnings under a sweet veneer of geniality. She understands, at that point, merely standing and bowing her way out of the room.

He looks at the clock. It’s four. He can barely keep his eyes open, but asks an attendant to take his messenger bag to Mari’s rooms, where they’ll be going after seeing their mother to her own. The walk is quiet, Yuuri offering his arm to Hiroko and smiling as she takes it happily before they set off. She bids them goodnight, giving them each a kiss and a hug (and Yuuri lets her hold onto him tightly, almost disbelievingly, for a few minutes straight, because it’s never going to be enough for the time he spent without her.) She closes the door only once he and Mari have rounded the corner, smiling and waving when Yuuri turns back to lift his hand.

The walk is quiet, and only vaguely familiar, but it’s short. Mari’s sitting room is much as he remembers it, though a glance into her bedroom tells him she’s still not shy about decorating. Posters adorn her walls, pop and movie stars alike, and figurines and memorabilia stand proudly on her shelves. Pictures of them as children, too, with one of his favorites perched on her desk. His bag is set neatly on her couch, and when he can’t find his glasses case he pulls out his contact solution, dipping into her bathroom to refresh the contacts he’s wearing. His glasses must have fallen out in the limo, as haphazardly as he’d shoved the case back in, but they’re likely to be in his room now. His dad’s room. The prospect of sleeping in there chills him, memories from earlier flashing incessantly through his mind, images floating unbidden from the recesses, and he makes a mental note to have his room rearranged. He unties his belt, pulling off his overshirt in order to avoid wrinkling it. Belt retied and shoes removed, he walks back into the sitting room.

His boots are placed neatly by the door, his shirt draped over the back of a chair. Mari is seated on the couch, and as she pats the spot next to her, he moves numbly in her direction. He sits with his legs pulled up, draped over Mari’s like they belong there. His back is a few feet from the end of the couch. Settling into her embrace, he feels calm. Warm, but cold at the same time. it’s a temporary reprieve from the chaos, and he knows it full well, but he doesn’t have the energy to dread what tomorrow may bring. He rubs Mari’s sides with his hands, feeling hers on his back through his hair. She seems so small. Last time she’d held him like this, he fit neatly in her arms, legs dangling above the floor as she squeezed his stomach and promised to play with him every day when he came home.

He’d outgrown playing long before he’d even thought he might, one day, come back home.

They shift so he’s laying down, legs still on her lap as she rubs circles in his calves. They’re swollen from being upright for so long, tingling heat spreading through his feet and ankles, and having them elevated feels nice. Gripping a small piece of the sleeve of her thick jinbei in his hand, he finds himself dozing off, too exhausted to cry again. She keeps rubbing his ankles and he feels so warm, so heavy, and shortly after his eyes come to a close, his hand loses its grip on her sleeve, coming to rest on his stomach. The last thing he registers in his sleepy haze is his sister gently lifting and lowering his feet, resting them on a pillow before the warmth of a blanket covers him.

 

~*~

 

Sitting up with a start, Yuuri blinks his eyes in the early morning sun. It takes a second to re-orient himself, confusion about his surroundings abruptly eased when he registers the room as Mari’s. It’s only been a couple of hours since he dozed off, but there’s a crick in his neck and his arm is numb against his side of the couch. Setting his feet gently on the carpet, he rubs his hands vigorously up and down his face and over crusty, gel-laden hair. It’s still mostly holding its shape, it seems, but it’ll have to be redone before lunch. It’s a quarter to six going by his watch, and after refreshing his contacts again and running a cool washcloth across his face in Mari’s bathroom, he goes to find her.

It doesn’t take long, as she’s dozing on her bed, blankets around her thighs. Her hair is mussed, her eyes still swollen and red. Her thick jinbei is tied messily around her body, clear evidence of her exhaustion. She looks comfortable, though, as Yuuri pulls the blanket back over her. He smiles fondly, before padding back into the sitting room to look for his shirt. He’s admiring the silver embroidery on the sleeve when the image of Viktor’s shocked expression flashes through his mind, causing his heart to drum quickly in his chest.

He quickly pulls on the shirt, wrapping it tightly around his body before untying and re-tying his pants so it’s tucked in. Hastily writing a note to his sister explaining his absence, he then sets it on the table next to her door only to find one for him.

_“Don’t forget we’re meeting with the head of the Guard at 8:30 to discuss security (Sitting room down the hall from your office). See you then. –M”_

He smiles again, tucking the note into his pocket. He walks through the halls as he sets an alarm on his phone, grabbing a passing attendant to ask which bedroom Viktor’s been given. It takes three people for him to get the right answer, each more nervous than the last, but he finally ends up in front of what he’s been assured is the right door.

In front of his childhood bedroom. He sighs.

Running his hands down the front of his shirt he takes several very long, very deep breaths. Viktor’s probably asleep. Or he’s been awake all night, upset. It wouldn’t be unexpected, he’s been thrown into a world completely foreign to him, and Yuuri doubts anyone has bothered to explain the situation. _“It’s not like_ you _bothered to, either,”_ says a cold voice in the back of his head. It’s right.

 

It’s _his fault_ Viktor’s alone and scared and he probably hates him now, or at the very least wants to leave at the first opportunity. Why deal with all of trouble that comes with Yuuri? He runs the question through his mind again and again, anxiety shooting down every answer he comes up with that resembles a positive. Viktor loves him. It’s impossible to think otherwise, but… Viktor’s been locked in a room the entire night. It doesn’t matter that Yuuri was busy, it doesn’t matter that he didn’t have time, that there were truly pressing issues that needed to be discussed, he should have done something, found some way to come back here and if he can’t manage to even do _that,_ how is he going to juggle ruling the country with giving Viktor the attention and time he deserves? He turns away from the door. It’s too much. Last night was too much, this is too much, and how is he supposed to face Viktor now that he probably hates Yuuri for lying? His hands clench at his sides. He raises one fist, holding it an inch away from the door, before backing away slowly and turning to leave.

Three feet down the corridor, he mentally smacks himself in the head. Viktor doesn’t deserve to be kept in the dark, and of all of the people in the palace, Yuuri is the most familiar with him. If he doesn’t tell him, one of the attendants is going to have to, and they won’t be kind about it. Even if they would, though, Viktor deserves to hear everything from Yuuri. It’s the least he can do after the months he’s spent keeping him in the dark.

_Deep breath in._

_Deep breath out._

_You can do this._

Yuuri walks back to the door and knocks quickly before he can change his mind. The next few seconds stretch into eternity, and the faint sound of voices coming closer fills the hall. The last thing he wants to do is end up swept back up in something or another, and before he registers his fist moving, he’s knocked again, harder and more urgent. There’s shuffling, then an agonizing pause, before the door handle clicks and it swings open. Yuuri squeezes through the gap as soon as he’s able, pushing it closed  quickly behind him.

It’s just a flimsy barrier between himself and the rest of the world, but it’s enough. He doesn’t allow himself to relax, but finds his hands moving on their own, fingers threading through and around each other, rubbing against his palms and offering some sort of relief to his overwhelming nerves. Viktor looks tired, hair mussed and eyes shadowed by dark circles. A patterned imprint is fading on his cheek, and Yuuri realizes with a start that he must have slept on the couch. Viktor’s still wearing his clothes from the flight, though they’re rumpled and his shirt hangs unevenly. Yuuri looks up, shaking slightly, as Viktor takes a step closer, arms out and welcoming. His brows are furrowed with concern, exhaustion evident in the circles under his eyes and the set of his shoulders, and Yuuri’s heart breaks again as he allows himself to be wrapped in Viktor’s embrace.

It feels safe, it feels comfortable. He feels more at home in Viktor’s arms than he has at all in his childhood residence so far. At that thought, everything he’s been holding inside for the last 16 hours comes crashing back into him, and he clings to Viktor as his world crumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Yuuri's Point of View!!! All This and Heaven, Too will be covering different points in Yuuri's life, from when he was fairly young, to alternate points of view/supplemental stories from during the timeline of The Nature of Things (his time in Russia, for instance.) As you can imagine, this work will be a little heavy. Life in hiding wasn't easy on Yuuri, and the kingship's not squaring up to being a walk in the park, especially not while juggling a love life as well.
> 
> Thanks to Isis and the stunning [@rikichie](rikichie.tumblr.com) for helping keep me focused and coherent!!! Much love!!!
> 
> You can anticipate the next update to be two weeks from now, a small drabble taking place directly after TNOT Chapter Seven, as well as an update to Closets at or around the same time.


	2. Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last bit of calm before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place directly after [The Nature of Things Chapter 07.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548/chapters/32493582)

It’s funny, Yuuri thinks at the sink in his bathroom brushing his teeth, that the closest the palace has truly felt to home is now, when he’s standing next to Viktor in front of the mirror, trying not to laugh at the faces Viktor is making while rinsing his mouth. He spits toothpaste into the sink, rinses his mouth as well, and when he looks back up at the mirror, Viktor’s smiling at him. “What is it?” Yuuri asks as he finishes wiping his chin.

“Do I really look that weird when I’m using mouthwash?” Viktor asks jokingly. His eyes sparkle when he opens his arms and Yuuri falls into them easily.

“You do,” Yuuri says softly, chuckling to himself.

“You’re no better,” he hears as soft lips press themselves to his forehead. He huffs while Viktor laughs. Viktor’s arms around him are warm, his breath soft against Yuuri’s cheek, and Yuuri just wants to stay here forever, to forget the palace, forget the coronation.

Forget the funeral, and the fact that he never had a proper chance to say goodbye. His throat thickens, and his chest grows tight, and he finds himself burying his face into the crook of Viktor’s neck. Hands on his back rub soothing circles as he tries to reign back his sadness, the grief he can feel slithering, cold, up his throat and through his torso. Sniffling softly, he pulls back, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. The palace had provided pajamas for him, silk and fine cotton, soft beyond belief and tailored to his measurements, but he’d set them all aside in favor of his old favorites. His sweats ride low on his hips, and the skating club t-shirt he’s wearing is loose on him, but it’s comfortable. It’s safe. It’s familiar, in this jarringly unfamiliar world. He’d never expected his return to the palace to be so difficult, so fraught, and while it’s surprisingly— uncomfortably— easy to fall back into the demeanor required of him, being home feels like visiting an interactive relic of a distant past.

 

They spend a moment on the couch, steaming mugs of herbal tea as soothing as the blanket they share and the warmth of their bodies. Viktor’s arm is wrapped around Yuuri’s shoulders, his lips laying loving reassurance on Yuuri’s hair and forehead, on his temple and on his nose when he smiles up at him. Radiant in the low light, Viktor’s eyes shine and Yuuri feels a prickling in his own as he tries desperately to enjoy this moment, to push aside everything that’s happened for this fleeting bit of comfort. Tea is finished all too soon, and they put their mugs on the table before turning off the lights. Viktor strips down to his pajama pants and crawls into bed while Yuuri stares at the room around him.

Things are much like he remembers in the sitting room, but the bedroom is another story. After his father’s death, he’d made it a point to ask the King’s bedroom be rearranged before he took residence. The decor has been updated in the years he was gone, slightly more modern than it had been, but it still looks familiar, almost as he remembers. Yuuri never spent a lot of time in here, his father preferring to relax in the sitting area and it’s probably for the better, if he’s being honest. Maybe it won’t continue to feel like a tomb.

He barely catches a sob before it leaves his chest, but the blankets rustle as they're moved aside.

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice is soft, soothing, worried. As Yuuri’s shoulders start shaking, his body curling in on itself, he hears Viktor’s footsteps on the carpet, coming to a stop just in front of him. Opening his eyes, all he can see is their sock-clad feet, the edges of his vision swimming unpleasantly.

“Yuuri,” Viktor says again, and he snaps his head up. Warm tears spill down his cheeks and Viktor’s face dissolves into sadness as he pulls him close, putting his hand on the back of Yuuri’s head while he kisses the top. “Come to bed with me, Lyubov,” he whispers. “Come to bed so I can hold you properly.” Yuuri nods, and Viktor grabs a box of tissues, depositing it on Yuuri’s nightstand before crawling into bed himself. The covers are pulled back and lifted and when Viktor looks up at him, worried and concerned and with sad eyes full of love, Yuuri’s chest grows tight and he scurries underneath. He turns off the bedside lamp before taking off his glasses and placing them carefully on the table.

When he rolls over, his head comes to rest on the pillow, shoulder snug against one of Viktor’s arms as the other flings the covers over them and wraps around his waist. Shaking, Yuuri tries to swallow the sobs clawing at his throat, the tidal wave of grief bashing against the walls of his emotional restraint, and Viktor peppers his forehead with kisses.

“I’m here,” Viktor says, and Yuuri’s throat swells uncomfortably. “You’re safe, Lyubov,” he whispers, and freezing burning fills Yuuri’s chest as he desperately clings to Viktor, futilely tries to hold everything in. “I love you so much, I’m so sorry you’re hurting.” Viktor’s voice is hoarse, choked up, and the dam breaks. The fear, the anguish, everything pours out of him as sobs wrack his body. A litany of reassurances come in a steady stream from Viktor’s mouth, hushed whispers against Yuuri’s hair punctuated by tender kisses. It’s everything he needs but simultaneously not _enough._ Not enough to distract him, not enough to ease the pain for longer than a moment, but he clings as he cries regardless. Viktor’s the only constant he has, the only source of familiarity that’s not clouded by fifteen years of nostalgia and the idealistic memory of a child.

Nothing feels right here, it goes against everything he’d anticipated, and the _wrongness_ of it all is disorienting. He’d expected to feel at home, expected the comfort of familiarity. In all of his imaginings, the reunion with his family was only ever happy. Was only ever full of the loving embraces he remembered, of smiles, of laughter and relief that he’d finally come _home._

Instead, he’d come back to a vaguely-familiar palace he could barely navigate, to tear-streaked faces and shuddering, awkward hugs. Instead of providing familial love and reassurance, the hugs he shared with his mother and Mari served only as a reminder of how much time had passed, how much he's changed since hurried goodbyes and tearful kisses next to a battered red truck. After a decade and a half, he had finally come home, but it was to dread, to fear, to aching loss and the weight of a responsibility he’s not ready to bear.

_(A responsibility he has no choice but to bear.)_

After the worst of the crying, Yuuri blows his nose and wipes his face as Viktor cleans tears off his chest, and when Yuuri slips back into his arms, a melancholic peace comes over them. The warmth of the blankets and the press of Viktor’s hand on his back are enough to settle his buzzing nerves, are comforting in the cold of the winter. He sighs heavily, letting himself succumb to the exhaustion, and the last thing he registers is whispered love and a kiss on his forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Next week's chapter of The Nature of Things will focus on the funeral and coronation! 
> 
> ATAHT will be updated at some point within the next month, once I figure out how I want to stagger it and Closets. I may be asking for input on what people would like to see on my tumblr.
> 
> TNOT will be updated next week (April 9th) as planned.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and if you want to shout at me I can be found at [ on tumblr!!](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/)


	3. A New Sort of Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's life has been a constant battle between his heritage and a desperate attempt at normalcy, and it's finally come to a head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Timeline:** Yuuri has just turned sixteen as of the start of this chapter._
> 
> (Takes place about seven years before the events of [The Nature of Things.)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548/chapters/30259071)

“Nee-chan,” Yuuri says, causing Hana to look up.

“Yes, Highness?”

“Do you think we’ll be going home, soon?”

As usual, she sighs, before stirring the stew. “I don’t know, Highness, we haven’t had any word.”

“Do you think it’ll be before I turn eighteen?”

“That’s two years from now, a lot can happen, hon,” she says, adding pepper. Yuuri knows he’s supposed to protest the familiarity, but he really doesn’t care anymore. It feels nice, coming from Hana. It feels like home. Setting down his game boy, he rolls off the couch.

“Can I at least get my driver’s license?”

“No word back on that either, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.” She sounds sorry. Yuuri knows she doesn’t like the situation any more than he does, but she does her best. He does  _ his _ best to hide his disappointment, but he knows it’s useless. She knows him too well. “They have sent instructions, though,” she says, and Yuuri’s stomach plummets.

“Nee-chan, I  _ like _ Alpena, I don’t — “

“No, no, Yuuri-kun,” she says, walking over. “We don’t have to move again, don’t worry.”

His heart still pounds, his breathing is still uncomfortably fast, but the panic starts to fade as she takes his face in her hands. “We don’t have to move,” she says again, “but they want you to start taking more lessons, now. They want Minako-sensei to come out and teach you more etiquette and work on your social skills.”

“And to prepare me,” Yuuri says quietly. He’s been kept on top of what’s been going on in Akitsushima, but now’s about the time he’d have started taking on more responsibilities at court. Started working alongside his father to learn about  _ ruling _ the country, in preparation for his eventual ascension to the throne. He shudders.

Hana looks at him softly. “Yes, Highness, that too.”

Sighing, he runs his fingers through his hair. “How long until she’s out here?” he asks.

“A couple of weeks,” is the response, and Hana turns off the burner. “I’ll let you know when I have an exact date.”

Yuuri nods. It’s all he can do. The palace has final say on his every move. “It’ll be good to see her again, don’t you think?” Hana asks, trying to lighten the mood.

“It will,” Yuuri responds absently. He pulls two bowls out of the cupboard, setting them next to the stove. Dinner that night is a relatively quiet affair. Yuuri’s not in the mood for small talk and Hana knows it, and she washes the dishes in silence while he works on his homework. He’s most of the way through social studies, in the middle of a section on constitutional monarchies, when he sees his dad’s name on the page. Sees his own, listed next to it as the heir, and tears are prickling in the corners of his eyes as he tries to swallow a sob. Hana doesn’t see him crying at first, busy as she is, but when he sobs again, aching and curling into himself, she comes over.

“Highness?” She asks gently as she sits next to him, and when his breath hitches in his throat she scoots closer and pulls him in. “Yuuri-kun, what is it? Do you want to talk about it?”

“I want to go  _ home,” _ he says, voice breaking. Hana just rubs his back. She’s long since stopped reassuring him, long since stopped promising it’ll be soon. She doesn’t know when it’ll be either, and he knows she misses her family, too. Before he realizes, guilt has joined the homesickness in his belly and he curls in more, sobs harder, grateful as Hana moves his books from his lap. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it sounds harsh and broken and there’s still the voice in his head that tells him to stop, that a crown prince doesn’t cry, especially not in front of people, but he crushes it.

He’s a prince only in name, right now, and even that’s questionable.

It’s been almost a decade since he’s been home, almost a decade since he’s felt his mother’s arms around him, felt the reassuring pressure of his father’s hand on his back. It’s been almost a decade since the last time he played with his sister on the grounds, the afternoon sun shining on their hair and the silks they wore. It’s been so long, and he misses home so,  _ so _ much sometimes he can barely breathe, but he hasn’t been playing the part. He hasn’t had to act like a prince outside of the home, and there are rare moments when it doesn’t feel real. When it feels like he’s just Yuuri Katsuki, kid from Michigan (and Illinois, and Pennsylvania, and Massachusetts, and Akitsushima, his home, and it  _ hurts _ when he remembers he’s not had a  _ real  _ home since he got to the U.S., not one he could rely on).

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, and Hana’s arms tighten further around him.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Yuuri-kun,” she says gently. She keeps using his name, trying her best to reassure him, and Yuuri loves her for it. It wouldn’t be allowed at home, this level of familiarity, of closeness, but she knows he needs to feel cared for more than he needs to remember his status, and he doesn’t fault her for it. He won't, when it brings such comfort.

“But if-if I hadn’t been a-attacked you’d be with your  _ f-family _ right now,” he chokes out, clinging to her. He hears the breath hitch in her throat before she pulls him tighter.

“Yuuri-kun, I volunteered for this, I knew it might take a long time to go home again,” she says. Yuuri can hear the tears in her voice, and he feels his own running down his face. “It’s not your fault, Yuuri-kun, not that we had to run, and especially not that you were attacked.”

It’s not as frequently, anymore, that he blames himself. Intellectually, he knows there was nothing he did to deserve to be killed, there was nothing he could possibly do that would justify the attack that ended up ripping him away from his family for eight years and counting. Emotionally, though, he can’t stop the guilt. Can’t stop feeling like if he’d just done something different he’d still be at home, still at the palace with his family and his dog and a sense of identity that wasn’t tied to whatever name and background the security team decided for him.

He hates them, but their work has kept him alive. Their decisions are calculated, and they do their best to allow him to do as much as possible, but Yuuri feels the shackles of royal blood even thousands of miles from home. Even without the authority and title that comes with it. It takes a while for his sobs to fade into hitched gasps, for the tears to dry on his face, sticky tracks down his cheeks and along his jaw. He moves to make tea at the same time Hana does, and they stand in the kitchen in companionable silence with faint smiles on their faces. By the time tea is finished, Yuuri’s standing next to her, his head on her shoulder while she rubs his back. This has become routine by now. Yuuri gets upset, cries while he’s held, then they make tea. Platitudes only go so far, and neither of them have the willpower or energy to try anymore. It’s tense, and then it settles, and they move on.

The next morning, Yuuri wakes to a breakfast of pancakes and sausage, a lunch bag packed with an incredible-looking roast beef sandwich, and he knows what they’re having for dinner that night. School, as usual, passes slowly. He jokes with his classmates, politely declines their offers to share food. “Ridiculously complicated dietary needs” is his excuse, but in actuality the palace just doesn’t trust school lunches or pre-packaged food. Doesn’t trust anything that’s not made by him or his bodyguard really, but they’ve loosened up around restaurants. Barely.

He’s picked up promptly when school ends by Hana, and since today’s not a rink day they go straight to the house. She pulls out ingredients for katsudon, and he smiles. It’s not his mother’s katsudon, not exactly, but it tastes just as comforting. For the first time, he wonders how bad it would really be to truly call this place “home.”

 

~*~

 

Social studies field trips are some of Yuuri’s favorites while simultaneously being the most nerve-wracking. He needs to show enough interest to justify his consistently high grades in his classes, while not drawing too much attention to himself. The balance is getting easier, the limits more defined as he gets increasingly accustomed to navigating the entire situation. He stays towards the front of the class, a few paces behind the guide, as they walk through the exhibits. The museum itself is fascinating, devoted to governments and the history thereof, and they’re now wandering the section about monarchies. Anticipating a focus on European monarchs like most American museums have, Yuuri’s unprepared to be walked into a area on Asia. He glances around as the exhibits move east across the continent, finally coming to a large section on the Japanese Imperial Family. Absently noticing how the Imperial Family’s grown older since the last time they met, Yuuri’s taken by surprise when the group shifts a few feet down the wall.

“Sachima,” the plaque reads and Yuuri’s heart starts pounding in his chest. Here, there are pictures of his family, of his home. Of  _ him. _ Absently, he messes with his hair, adjusts his glasses. Tries to make himself look as different as he can from the serious-looking child he sees in the photos.  _ Was it really like that back home? _ He remembers happy times. Fun times. He remembers the smile on his mother’s face the first time he played the piano for her, the hug he shared with his father when he left for his first day of school. It’s impossible to forget the fun he’s had with Mari, playing with Vicchan and running around the palace in search of each other or in a quest for snacks from the kitchens.

Homesickness settles in his belly, a heavy weight he’s been carrying for long enough that it’s carved its own place, sticks to his bones like tar, surfacing at the most inconvenient times. Like when he’s standing in front of pictures of his family in a room full of people who don’t know who he is. He wants to go  _ home. _

The caption below one says it’s a picture from his father’s coronation. That explains a lot. He doesn’t remember much about it. He’d hated his clothes, the fabric tight and itchy against his body. The sun was too bright during the procession and salutes, the lights too bright during the ceremony and when he was given his title, and he’d just wanted to go back to his rooms and play. He remembers the days after the coronation, the only time he’s ever seen his father cry.

“I can’t do this,” his father had said quietly to his mother.

“Yuuri needs to see you do this,” she’d said in return. Yuuri hadn’t understood at the time, but the meaning is uncomfortably clear to him now.  _ There will be a day when Yuuri has to do this,  _ his mother had meant.  _ You are the only example he’ll have to show him how to ascend to the throne.  _ He’s brought back when the tour guide clears his throat at the front.

“The Sachiman Royal Family Consists of four people. Their Royal Majesties King Toshiya and Queen Hiroko and Their Royal Highnesses Princess Mari and Crown Prince Yuuki, who is next in line for the throne.”

_ “That’s not my name,” _ he thinks.  _ “My name is —” _

“Yuuri,” he says out loud, before he can stop himself. He flushes as all eyes turn to him. Swallowing, he tries desperately to stop the pounding of his heart in his chest, to fight the black creeping in at the edge of his vision.

“What was that?” The guide asks.

Yuuri’s hands twitch in his hoodie pockets, his palms burning. “Uhh,” he says, “I thought the prince’s name was Yuuri?”

The tour guide looks back at the plaque, his mouth making an “o” of understanding before he looks at Yuuri again. “How did you know that, young man?”

Heart pounding in his chest, Yuuri rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “My, uh, sister used to tease me for having the same name as him. When she was learning this stuff.”

The guide smiles, seemingly convinced. “Well, that’s nice. How do you spell it?”

“Y-U-U-R-I,” he responds.

“I meant the kanji, Yuuri. In Japanese?”

_ “Courage to win,” _ his mind says. “Umm, I dunno, my parents never told me,” he offers with a shrug, before pushing his hands back into his pockets. He hates that he can come up with lies more easily than he can tell the truth, that it’s been his reality for half his life. 

“That’s unfortunate,” the guide says. “The young prince’s name would be written ‘courageous victory,’ if anyone’s wondering. You should ask your parents, Yuuri. It would be an interesting link to have with the next King of Sachima.” The guide pauses, before continuing his talk, but Yuuri stays focused on calming his breathing, slowing his heart rate. It doesn’t work as well as he’d hoped, and his nerves steadily grow worse as the day goes on. 

 

The ride back to school offers him the opportunity to curl up in the corner of the bus, watching out the window. He knows his bodyguard is nearby, she typically follows Yuuri on field trips. Sometimes it’s overt and she ends up joining him on the bus as a chaperone. Others, she disguises herself and keeps a good distance in the car and on foot. They’ve done this dance for a few years now, passing like ships in the night when they’re not supposed to recognize each other. He just wishes he were in the car with her, instead of surrounded by his classmates.

There’s laughter from the rear of the bus, just a few seats back.

“But you’re serious? Like, actual missing-royal type stuff?” His classmate’s voice rings through the air and Yuuri feels himself go still. Are they talking about him?

“Yeah, no, it said he just vanished like ten years ago or something. Left Sachima in the middle of the night. I read it before we left.” They  _ are _ talking about him. Yuuri pointedly looks out the window.

“Do we actually know he left the country though?” One of the girls kneels on her seat, leaning against the back. “What if he’s like… hiding in plain sight? Like the Princess Diaries!”

_ If only you knew,  _ Yuuri thinks. His anxiety has hit the point where he’s coasting, riding on the edge separating panic and laughter and he finds himself strangely numb as his classmates continue.

“What if it’s a secret glass house under the ocean?”

“Are you stupid?” one of the larger boys asks. Yuuri has to agree, that’d be an absolutely ridiculous plan. Too easy to find with radar, too hard to maintain, too hard to move if compromised. He smiles at the absurdity, before remembering his classmates have never had to think about things like that.

“I wonder if he talks to anyone or he’s like, hidden in a cave somewhere high up in the mountains.”

_ I wish. _ Sinking further into his seat, Yuuri tries to make himself inconspicuous, which of course makes him feel like he’s being suspicious and his anxiety screams through his mind that they’ll  _ know _ and he can’t do anything to prevent the move, to prevent losing this, to prevent losing his name again and he’s near hyperventilating when one of the voices rises above the din.

“Katsuki!” Yuuri does his best to be small, to make them think he’s asleep or in a different area of the bus.

“Hey, Katsuki! I know you’re listening!”

There’s no choice but to engage and his mind roars even as it comes to a screeching halt. Peeking his head over the backrest, he gets on his knees. “What do you want?” He keeps it casual, mildly irritated, as if he’d been trying to sleep.

“You’re Sachiman, right?” Heart pounding as he nods, Yuuri swallows bile, swallows the remnants of his lunch threatening to come back the way they went in. He’s sure they know something, sure they suspect who he is after seeing those pictures, that despite his efforts he’s not hidden well enough and why didn’t he tell them he was  _ Japanese _ all those years ago? “You ever see the dude?”

“What?”  _ What. _

“You ever see the prince? Like, in person.”

_ Every day when I look in the mirror. Fun fact: you have, too. _ He chokes back his nerves. They don’t suspect, they can’t suspect. “My family went to a few independence parades when I visited as a kid, the royal family was riding in a carriage.” There’s no reason for him to not have flat-out lied and said he’d never seen the Royal Family, that he’s never gone to Sachima, and he mentally kicks himself until he remembers he’d said a few weeks ago that he visited as a child. It’s getting hard to keep track.

“Yeah but was  _ he _ there?”

_ Yes, _ Yuuri wants to say, but that would invite more questions about the prince, about  _ him, _ and his lies are only good to a point before becoming twisted and mangled and beyond his control. “I dunno,” he says with a shrug. Best to feign ignorance. “We went to Sachima every year there for a while. He could have been, though, I guess. I was young enough.”

“He’s our age, isn’t he?” a girl asks from a few seats up. “Do you think he’s in school right now? Just another student somewhere?”

“Nah, they probably have him under guard like 24/7.”

_ Or both. _ Yuuri thinks. He’s in school for sure. He lives with his bodyguard who, more often than not, tails him when he’s not either in class or at home, much like she’s doing right now. Both is an accurate summary of the current situation and he just wants them to stop talking about him, stop wondering about him, stop  _ thinking _ about him so he can go back to his farce of a normal life.

One of the other boys, one who’s never been anything but nice, if distant, grins as he glances over at Yuuri. “Guys. Katsuki has the same name as the prince, he’s Sachiman. What if he’s secretly  _ royalty?” _

Chest turning to ice, Yuuri freezes in place, struggling to get air without alerting everyone to his panic before laughter bursts from one of the baseball players the row in front of them. He rolls his eyes at Yuuri before turning around. “Katsuki? A prince? Nah, he’s as nerdy as they come.” It offers relief, as much as it stings, and that’s only furthered when the guy’s girlfriend joins in.

“Aren’t princes like, supposed to be charismatic or something? Katsuki doesn’t have any friends. No offense,” she says, looking over.

“None taken,” Yuuri manages to get out. “Anyway, ‘Yuuri’ was a popular name in Sachima after the prince was born, there’re thousands across the country, not to mention those of us living abroad. You may as well assume a Brit named William is the Prince.” 

“Are  _ you _ named after him?”

_ Feign ignorance again. _ Yuuri shrugs. “Parents never said anything about it but I guess I could be.” As unnerving as it is that people named their babies after him within minutes of the announcement, it’s coming in handy now. Statistically, the chances of a given Sachiman named Yuuri, at or even  _ around _ their age, being the Crown Prince is slim to none. The whole back of the bus laughs, ribbing the kid who’d come up with the apparently harebrained theory. It’s a strange comfort that the idea of Yuuri being the secret Lost Prince of Sachima is apparently so unbelievable as to be a joke.

Despite, you know, it being true. 

Yuuri settles into the seat as the topic of conversation changes to something inane. It’s still half an hour to the school and Yuuri wants to be anywhere but here, curling up as the panic starts to rise again. So close. He was so close,  _ is _ so close if the wrong people draw the right conclusions, to being torn away from everything. Homesickness joins the fear, the terror coursing through his body. He wants to go home, whether to the house in Alpena or all the way to Hasetsu, he wants to be somewhere he doesn’t have to play a part, doesn’t have to pretend.

He’s so tired of hiding.

 

Hana’s very good at her job. Yuuri assumes she saw him wiping his eyes as he gets off the bus, because he hasn’t been in homeroom five minutes when he’s told to collect his things and meet her outside. With a sigh of relief, and a last-ditch attempt to calm his nerves, he throws his things into his messenger bag before walking out the front door to the car. It only hits him, how close he is to losing everything, when they’re pulling into the driveway of their modest two-story house. He scrambles out of the car, and follows impatiently behind Hana as she unlocks the front door. His bag is thrown to the side just inside the living room, and he curls up on the couch while Hana sets the kettle to boil.

She’s over in short order with two cups of tea, steaming in the cold, and she wraps a blanket around Yuuri before taking a seat next to him.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. You handled that magnificently.”

“You heard?” He’s quiet, panic still evident in his voice. 

“Yes, and I think it’s fine. Really good cover story, especially with not knowing how it’s written.”

“You’re not going to tell the palace?”

Hana shakes her head. “No need, Highness.”

Yuuri lets out a sigh of relief he hadn’t realized he’s been holding, and the tension ebbs slowly out of his shoulders. He sips his tea. It’s not often that he slips up like this, not since Philadelphia, and although he knows it wasn’t suspicious, he can’t help but panic. He’s been ripped away before, told he would be moving and taking on a new identity with less than a month’s notice, and each time hurt as much as the last.

He doesn’t tell her about the jokes on the bus. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt them.

 

~*~

 

There’s a knock on the door, and Hana gestures to Yuuri to stay put. Leaning back on the couch, he holds his breath like he always does when Hana does her usual checks. She backs away, nodding at him with a smile, before opening the door. 

Minako walks in, head held high and a smile on her face. When the door is closed behind her, she sets her purse down. Yuuri gets up, making his way around the couch. 

“Minako-sensei!”

She grins, then, bowing as Yuuri approaches her. “Your Royal Highness,” she says, before straightening up and putting her hands on his shoulders. She looks him over, eyes moving from the slippers on his feet, to the denim of his jeans and the  _ Alpena High School Wildcats _ t-shirt he’s wearing, finally coming to rest on his face. “Prince Yuuri,” she says, smiling, “it’s good to see you doing well.”

“And yourself, Minako-sensei.” Yuuri smiles, before wrapping his arms around her. She stiffens for a second, the physical affection from him unexpected, but her hands come to rest on his back.

“You’ve gotten big,” she says, “you're almost as tall as I am!”

He grins, pulling back. “How is my family?”

“Doing well, Your Highness, Vicchan included. I brought pictures of him on his new bed.”

“Can I see them?” Excitement courses through him. There won’t be pictures of his family, he knows, since the palace wants as little physical evidence tying Yuuri to the Royal Family as possible, but it’ll be nice to see Vicchan. He’ll take any taste, any glimpse of home he can get. 

Minako doesn't disappoint, pulling a stack of polaroids out of her bag. Yuuri takes them, probably a bit too quickly, and rifles through excitedly. The backgrounds wouldn't tell anyone anything if they didn't know what they were looking at, and some locations are unidentifiable even to Yuuri, but he sees the patterned wallpaper of his father's private study, the broken paving stone he used to trip over near the outside entrance to the kitchens. Vicchan, in most of the pictures, is full of exuberance, jumping or rolling around. Yuuri misses him. He’d asked again and again why he couldn’t have Vicchan with him, but the answers were always the same. 

It’s harder to run, harder to be in hiding, if you have a dog with you. It's the same reason Yuuri had left with only one bodyguard. The fewer people to account for, the easier it is to move at a moment’s notice. 

 

Training with Minako is fun at first, especially when they finish with ballet, but quickly grates on him. In addition to Sundays being spent learning history and policy with Hana, his Saturdays are now taken up with five hours of drilling social skills and etiquette, which is enforced by Hana at home at all times. It's hard, in the beginning. Hana has done her best, but she was more focused on raising him than making sure he was the perfect prince, and he’s become used to lounging around, slouching, and making emphatic gestures. As a prince, he needs good posture, to carry himself as befits his station. He needs to be purposeful in his movements, confident in his speech, and unwavering in his gaze.

After six months, his teachers have congratulated him for becoming more serious, for carrying himself with grace and dignity, and while it’s encouraging to know Minako and Hana’s diligent training is working, he feels like he’s starting to lose a part of himself, like he’s giving up the last semblance of control over his own life. It’s uncomfortable, and he gets more and more irritated as time goes on. There isn’t much he can say without his dad finding out, with the monthly reports Hana is sending, but he takes it out on them with a clipped tone, by cloaking himself in his title when he’s in a bad mood. He’s in a bad mood a lot, these days.

_ If they want a Prince they’ll get one,  _ he thinks in moments of anger. 

 

One day, Minako takes one look at him when he arrives for his ballet lesson, glaring with some level of contempt and sweating in the humidity of the late summer, before bodily turning him around. 

“We’re going home,” she says. 

“What?!” Yuuri jerks his shoulder from her grasp, swatting her hand away. “Akitsushima?!”

“No, I'm taking you to the house.”

“Why?” Crossing his arms, Yuuri scowls, doing his best to put her training to use.

“Impressive, but not impressive enough. I've seen your mother angry.” She puts her hand on his shoulder, turning him around and pushing him towards the door. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

“I am your  _ Crown Prince,” _ he hisses, taken aback. This sort of treatment would absolutely not be allowed at home, and Yuuri doesn’t see why he should have to put up with it  _ now, _ when he’s already tired, already cranky, and already wishing he were anywhere but with Minako for these godforsaken lessons.

Minako leans close, whispering in his ear. “Not in public you're not. Get in the car.” To argue with that would be to argue with the palace, and Yuuri has no choice in the matter.

Stunned, all he can do is follow her, getting in the passenger’s side and buckling his seatbelt absently while she locks up. After getting in, Minako leaves the door open as she starts the car. Before she closes it, she rolls her window down, glancing at Yuuri. Waiting at the first stoplight after leaving the studio, Yuuri looks at her. 

“Do you mind rolling that up? Give us some privacy?”

Minako looks at him. “Not a chance.”

She knows the game and she’s playing it now. The palace prohibits all discussion that could give away his identity unless there’s reasonable assumption of privacy. With the window down, anyone can overhear. With the window down, Yuuri can’t pull rank, can’t get angry like he wants to. Instead, he crosses his arms, slouching purposefully in his seat as Minako drives through the city.

“Yuuri,” she says, but he can tell she feels strange addressing him like this, “I understand that you dislike the state of things.  _ No one _ likes the state of things, and Hana-san and I can't  _ imagine _ how it must feel to be in your shoes. I have the deepest sympathy for you, Yo-Yuuri.”

He smiles and huffs at the misstep, before turning to look out of his (closed) window.

“That being said, I, and Hana-san I believe, find your recent attitude uncalled for.”

“Excuse me?” When he looks at her, she’s frowning, eyes fixed on the road.

“Hana-san and I are doing our best. Hana-san has  _ been _ doing her best for almost nine years now.” Yuuri turns to stare out the window again, watching as trees and houses pass him by. He’s well aware of how long he’s been away, and doesn’t need the reminder. “Yuuri, we need to get through this. All we have right now is each other. Let’s not make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“It’s  _ already _ more difficult than it has to be,” he retorts as they pull into the driveway. When the car comes to a stop, he gets out, throwing his book bag and duffel over his shoulder. After giving the door a heavy slam, he marches inside. They want him to act like a prince and yet Minako acts like _ this? _ Defers to him one moment, and treats him like a child the next. She’s been working with Hana, trying to mold him into a role he won’t be able to play for an unknown amount of time (but certainly doesn’t need to play  _ now.  _ Is it so much to ask to be able to act like a kid while he’s stuck in the United States?) and he's tired of being pushed around.

“Your Highness, you’re home early,” Hana says from the couch. She looks wide-eyed at Minako, who’s making an effort not to slam the door behind her as she wheels on Yuuri.

“Your  _ Royal _ Highness,” he corrects. The difference is small, he’s being petty and he knows it, but they’re frankly being quite rude.

“Your Royal Highness,” Minako says, “in continuation of our earlier discussion—”

“No!” Yuuri shouts, turning around. “I’m going to my room.”

“You will do no such th—”

“I can and I  _ will!” _ he yells.  _ “I _ am your Crown Prince, and you will  _ treat me as such!” _

“Your Royal Highness,” Minako says in a carefully measured tone, “I find it prudent to remind you that your father has given me authority over children of the court. An authority that is still in place. An authority I am more than prepared to use if you keep  _ acting _ like a child. We can discuss this calmly, or I can contact your father and have him discuss this with you. Either way, this ends today.”

“Discuss  _ what?” _ Yuuri says. “The palace already has a leash on me and all you two are doing is tightening it! It’s always ‘act as befits your  _ station, _ Your Highness,’ and then when I do it’s suddenly unacceptable? To what end is your training if I am not permitted to put it into practice?!” The formality bleeding into his tone disgusts him, a reminder of everything he’s forced to be, hidden under the paper-thin mask he wears nowadays.

“We’re doing it for your benefit,” Hana says quietly. “We need to keep you  _ ready.” _ A pang of guilt runs through Yuuri. She looks so tired, so sad, and everything tells him he’s to blame.

“You could be called back at any moment, Your Highness,” Minako adds. “You  _ must _ be prepared for the possibility.”

“The palace hasn't said  _ anything _ about me going back! There’s been no word and I asked three days ago.” Yuuri stalks across the room, standing near the TV after turning back around and crossing his arms. “They'll warn us when they know, and I don’t see why it’s a problem for me to just be  _ normal _ until we know I’m going back. It’s not like I can act this way at home.” He’s had his taste of freedom now, a glimpse of normalcy and he hadn’t appreciated it for what it was until it had been taken away.

Hana and Minako share a glance before Hana looks back over. “Your Highness,” she says, her voice unusually gentle, “there may not  _ be _ any warning.”

“What do you—” Yuuri goes cold when he understands. If his dad dies unexpectedly, whether naturally or at the hand of an assassin, Yuuri could become King overnight. He'd be back on a plane within hours of receiving the news, crowned within days, even if they ended up appointing his uncle as Regent for the first years of his reign. Throat tight, a new awareness dawning, he meets Minako’s eyes and nods in agreement. 

One day, he will go home, and whether it's as Crown Prince or as King, he  _ must _ be ready. Acceptance of the necessity of his training aside, he still can’t help the anger welling up in his chest, clogging his throat as his vision starts blurring with frustrated tears. He closes his eyes, feeling twin tears make their way down his cheeks. There are footsteps, and he feels gentle hands on his shoulders.

“Your Highness,” Hana says. “Yuuri-kun.” She looks concerned when he lifts his face. 

“What?” he chokes out. Tears are falling steadily now, running down his cheeks and collecting on his jaw, sliding down to drip from his chin as he tries to keep his lip from wobbling.

Hana looks at Minako, then back at him. “Yuuri-kun, what’s upsetting you so much? Specifically?”

“What does it matter?” Yuuri asks as he rubs one eye under his glasses. Trying to breathe is difficult, but he takes as deep breaths as possible, letting them out slowly. His throat hurts. His chest hurts. He just wants to curl in on himself in his bed, to go to sleep and wake up in his bedroom in Hasetsu, with the sun coming in through the windows and the smiling faces of his family around the breakfast table. Instead he’s standing in a living room that still, somehow, feels small and plain and foreign to him, though it’s been home for over two years now.

Of all of the things to miss, he never thought it’d be the opulence of the palace. His teeth dig into his lower lip as he struggles to breathe, struggles to blink away his tears and compose himself like he knows they want him to.

“Yuuri-kun, please. We’ve been telling you why we’re upset with you, yes, but you’re clearly hurting too. Talk to us. Is it only the training?” Voice unusually gentle, Hana rubs his shoulders with her thumbs, squeezes the back of them with her fingers. The pressure is relaxing, helping calm him down, and he’s moving forward for a hug before he knows it. There’s a moment of hesitation, but Hana wraps her arms around him, holding him tightly. He’s been avoiding her for weeks and, over the last six months of adopting a more regal bearing, had been missing her hugs for longer than he knew.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against her shoulder.

“For what?”

“A crown prince doesn’t cry. A crown prince doesn’t show emotion,” he recites, even though Minako had only cautioned care in choosing the people to whom he opens up. It’s a lesson he’d learned young, and a lesson he’s kept in his heart no matter how deeply he’d managed to bury it with the illusion of normalcy. Hana holds him tighter.

“Oh, Yuuri-kun,” she says, kissing the top of his head softly. Her body shifts as she turns to look at Minako, in the direction of the kitchen this time. When Yuuri looks up, Minako’s walking into the room with a tray, three steaming mugs on it. She sets it on the coffee table before taking a seat on the short arm of the L-shaped couch. Patting the seat in the corner next to her, she gives Yuuri a pointed look.

“Highness,” Minako says softly, “why don’t you come sit down, have some tea, and we can talk.”

Tea sounds nice, and Yuuri moves to the couch, pulling his legs up to his chest as he sits in the corner. Hana sits next to him, about a foot away, but turns to face him, leaning against the backrest.

“I don’t think it’s too much to ask,” Hana starts, “to have some casual time. You would have down time in the Palace as well, so it’s fitting for you to have it here, and I’ll admit we’ve been pushing you far harder than necessary.”

Yuuri nods quickly. It’s been formal 24/7 recently, Hana deferring to him in what matters she can, getting him accustomed to having some level of authority, and Minako insisting on proper manners at all times, akin to attending a formal banquet at every meal. It’s too much, all at once, and it doesn’t feel fair for him to have the last bits of control over his own personality torn away.

He’s lost so much already, and he doesn’t know if or when he’ll get any of it back.

“Our concerns,” Minako says, “and, you should know, our  _ orders,  _ are that you be prepared for life when you go home, in such a way that you’re not struggling. You need to focus on your duties when you return and you can’t do that if you’re also trying to re-learn etiquette and protocol. You need to know these things, to have these behaviors ingrained so much so that they’re second-nature. Above that, you need to be current on politics in Akitsushima. These lessons are _necessary.”_

“I understand,” he whispers, pulling his legs closer.

“So you realize we can’t just treat you like any other kid all the time.”

“It doesn’t have to be  _ always, _ I don’t mind, usually. It feels like home,” he mutters. He’s never been treated any other way, not by them and not by anyone else who actually knows who he is. Even Hana, over the years, has treated him casually very sparingly at home, usually only when he’s upset and needs the comfort. Hana and Minako are his only links to Akitsushima right now. His only source of familiarity. Part of him, the part that’s been in American schools since he was eight and has listened to the ‘equality for all’ spiel too many times to count, feels bad that he’s more comfortable being treated like he’s better than everyone, but he can’t help it.

It’s all he’s had since his childhood and now, the only reminder of who he really is and where he came from (even if he doesn’t  _ feel _ better than anyone,) and where part of him hopes he’ll be returning soon. He’ll take what comfort he can.

Hana speaks up, “Minako-sensei, we need to figure something out and talk to the Palace, this isn’t working.” Yuuri sees Minako frown, nodding her head in agreement as Hana continues. “He’s going to need to get used to varying levels of formality as it is, though. Yuuri-kun, how does it sound if you’re able to act casually at home, so long as you still act  _ properly, _ and formally during your lessons. When Minako-sensei is visiting us here, it can be semi-formal.”

“Not during ballet,” Yuuri mumbles.

“Sorry?” Hana leans forward to hear him better.

“He said ‘not during ballet,’” Minako clarifies. “I think that’s fair enough. Ballet is stress relief, I’m willing to forgo most formality during ballet lessons. I want you at your best during others though, you understand, Highness? Etiquette  _ and _ ballroom.”

Yuuri nods.

Hana holds out his tea. “If you… Yuuri-kun if you need a day sometimes as a sort of ‘free day,’” she says as he takes it, “you can ask for one. Does that sound fair?”

Yuuri nods, taking a sip. It’s Minako’s favorite jasmine green and he smiles. Glancing at each of them, he bows his head in a nod. “I’m sorry,” he says, thinking back on the last few months. He’d been angry, had been rude, and hadn’t seen the added stress he was causing.

“Apology accepted, Yuuri-kun,” Hana says, smiling.

“Accepted, Your Highness,” Minako says, “but please do your best to ensure it doesn’t happen again. Carelessly wielding your title like a sword is only going to hurt  _ you _ in the end.”

After taking another sip, Yuuri nods again, settling back into the cushions.

“Can we order pizza? And soda. And wings,” he asks. He wants breadsticks too but that’s probably pushing things a bit far. The palace has a diet he needs to adhere to. Not a strict one, but food like pizza is definitely on their ‘not recommended’ list. They want him as healthy as possible.

“Sure,” Hana says to his surprise.

Minako smiles. “I’ll put on a movie.”

Grinning at both of them, Yuuri sips his tea. When Hana raises her arm, he snuggles into her side. She calls the pizza place, Minako brings a selection of movies for them to choose from, and Yuuri lets himself ease into a sort of comfort. It’s an indisputable fact that he won’t be able to have any semblance of a normal life, and trying to come to terms with that is hard, but he’ll do his best.

He has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sticking with me so far!!!
> 
> ATAHT will be updated in a month, if not in two weeks, depending on what I have ready between it and [Closets.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13455048/chapters/30842814)
> 
> I can be found on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon.](https://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


	4. A Small Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri's never thought of himself as the type of person who'd be good at giving advice, and had never thought Yuri the type to seek it out. Here they both are, though, at a tipping point, and without realizing, Yuuri gives the right kind of nudge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of these scenes take place during [The Nature of Things Chapter 11,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548/chapters/34372208) while Yuuri and Yura were in the media room while Viktor was with Minako, and the night before Viktor gets threatened, respectively.

“Oh,  _ you’re _ in here.”

Turning around, Yuuri pauses his game. Yuri’s standing near the door, arms crossed and wearing black sweats and a shirt with a leopard on it. “I am,” Yuuri says. “You’re welcome to join me if you want.”

He doesn’t actually expect it when the teen flops onto the couch next to him. The media room isn’t small, but how it’s set up with couches and beanbag chairs, shelves full of games and movies, makes it feel more cozy and intimate than much of the rest of the palace. It’s one of Yuuri’s favorite rooms, and only half because of the game systems. The other half is some mix of nostalgia and the lack of pressure to perform, to be King. Here, he can just be himself. Yuuri moves the bowl of chips he has to sit between them on the couch, before unpausing his game. A second later it’s paused again, and he looks over at Yuri.

“Wanna play something multiplayer?” he asks. “I don’t mind, I’m at a good save point anyway.”

“You have Mario Kart?” 

“Yup.”

Yuri nods his assent, and Yuuri smiles, exiting out of Dragon Age and switching the input on the television. It doesn’t take long to get the game going, Yuri grumbling about being player two but, ultimately, honoring the unspoken rule that the system owner gets player one. Makkachin situates himself at Yuuri’s feet, resting peacefully until the third time he’s accidentally been kicked, at which point he moves a few feet away and curls up. Somehow it feels like he’s giving Yuuri the side-eye.

 

“Why the fuck do you win all the time?” Yuri gripes after coming in sixth in their third cup.

“I play. A lot,” Yuuri says, pushing his glasses up his nose. “It’s all down to practice, and I know these tracks like the back of my hand by now.”

Yuri scoffs, grabbing some chips and shoving them in his mouth. “Fuck practice,” he mutters. “Fuck practice, fuck Viktor, fuck agape.”

“I take it it hasn’t been going well?”

“The fuck do you think, Katsudon?” Flopping back on the couch, Yuri glares at the television as he scrolls through different racetracks. “Why the fuck do you have such a big TV?” he asks.

“Because we just do.”

Yuri looks at him, before picking the latest Rainbow Road. “Not saying it’s a bad thing,” he mutters. 

There’s no more conversation during the race, each of them doing their best to win. Nor do they talk during the next race, in which Yuri comes in at a very close second.

“You’re doing better,” Yuuri says with a smile. “Try being more strategic with your item use. Banana peels don’t do much good at the very edges of the track unless you’re on a curve.”

They keep going, playing a few races more in companionable silence broken only by Yuuri offering the occasional gentle pointer about either the track or item usage. Yuri seems to take considerable delight in using shells, learning quickly how to aim green ones effectively and landing a few good hits. It’s not until he lands a blue shell just before Yuuri crosses the finish line, passing him to take first, that Yuuri feels a distinct pride welling up in his chest. Jumping up and shouting in his victory, the teen celebrates before flopping back down. 

“Take that, Katsudon!” he says with glee. 

“Good job,” Yuuri responds. 

“What, you're not mad?”

Yuuri shrugs. “I don't see why I would be. It's a video game,” he says, scrolling through the tracks. 

“You're weird, you know that?”

Smiling, Yuuri looks over. “So I've been told. Up for another?”

“Can we get some snacks?”

Nodding, Yuuri pulls out his phone. “Sure, what do you want?”

Next to him, Yuri blinks, apparently not having expected to get this far. “Uhh, what do you have?”

“Different chips. Pretzels. I can ask something be made, if you like. Nothing fancy or anything, the kitchen staff is probably doing dinner at the moment, but I can have fruit or veggies brought. Pop, too, if you like.”

“Pop?”

“Soda. Soft drinks. Coke and shit.”

The teen nods. “You got pirozhki?” he asks, sounding wistful. 

“I don’t know. One of our chefs is Russian,” he says, “she could probably make some if we asked.”

“Nah, takes too long,” Yuri mutters. “Gotta let the dough rise.”

“Oh. How long does that take?”

“Couple hours.” Leaning back in his chair, Yuri sighs. “My grandpa makes the best pirozhki,” he says.

“Oh?”

“Yeah! And sometimes he puts different fillings in than he usually does, it’s really good!” Smiling, Yuri seems to perk up talking about his grandfather. Yuuri grins.

“I’ll order some popcorn, maybe some fruit. Sound good?”

When Yuri nods, he puts the request into his phone, adding a not requesting drinks as well. “What sorts of pirozhki has your grandfather made?”

“Not many,” the teen replies. “He did mashed potatoes once. I wonder if he could put katsudon in them.”

Yuuri laughs. “If he manages to do that, get the recipe.”

“I will!” Yuri says. “He brings some to competitions for me sometimes, and he taught me how to make them.” 

“Your grandpa sounds like a good man.”

“He is,” Yuri responds. “He raised me. Went to all my shit when I was a kid, he still does when his back isn't acting up. Sometimes even when it is.” Looking down at his hands, he seems lost in thought for a second, strangely vulnerable as his mouth falls open just a bit, but he soon snaps out of it. “But yeah, he’s awesome.”

“My bodyguard raised me, for the most part,” Yuuri says. He’s not sure why he's talking about this, he’s not even sure he really wants to deal with the questioning he knows Yuri’s more than capable of, but nevertheless, he pushes on. “I mean, I was born here, yeah, and I lived here as a kid, but we left the country when I was almost eight. Moved to the States for a while. I was living there when I met Viktor.”

“You came and visited though, right? Your parents didn’t just let you…”

“They had to.” Taking a deep breath, Yuuri pulls his legs up under him, leaning against the back of the couch. “I didn’t talk to them ‘til I was thirteen, and even then it was rare up until a few years ago. Security concerns and all, we didn’t want people finding me.”

“Why?”

“Someone tried to kill me.” Matter-of-fact, Yuuri’s tone seems to take Yuri off-guard. The fact that this surprises Yuuri just serves as a reminder of how fucked-up his life has been so far. 

Crossing his legs, Yuri looks down at his hands. “So not even once?”

“Did I visit?” Yuuri asks. The teen nods, keeping his head down but looking at Yuuri through his hair. “No,” Yuuri says. “Not even once. The night my dad died was the first time I’d seen him since I left.” Talking about this should hurt more than it does, he thinks, but there’s a strange sort of numbness that comes over him. It’s not all-encompassing, Yuuri feels a sort of wistfulness mixed with regret, but he doesn’t find himself holding back tears. Unsure if it’s a sign of healing or just some quirk of his brain, he takes it for the gift it is.

“I didn’t really know him,” he says softly. “I never really had the opportunity. Mari and my mom either, but at least we’re getting to know each other now. Sometimes I feel like I should be sadder about his death than I am, but it hurts more knowing I won’t have the chance to…” Trailing off, he’s not entirely sure how to finish the sentence, so he shrugs and leaves it as it is. 

“‘M sorry,” Yuri mumbles, looking at his hands.

Shrugging again, Yuuri picks up his controller. “It is what it is. Don’t get me wrong, I… I miss him. But sometimes it feels like it’s more the idea of him. Or of the relationship we could have had” There’s the stirrings of anger in his belly, but he just switches through tracks until he gets to the airport. It’s not that he  _ wants _ to feel sad, the grief hurts enough as it is, but sometimes it feels almost like he’s mourning a stranger. When Yuri nods, he selects the track.

An attendant comes with the snacks halfway through the race, setting them on a side table along with a selection of chilled soda. When they’ve crossed the finish line, Yuri moves the snacks to the low coffee table in front of them, and looks back at Yuuri as he reaches for the drinks. 

“Which do you want?” he asks. 

“Cherry Coke.” Without thinking, Yuri throws the bottle in Yuuri’s direction, eyes widening when he catches it smoothly. Twisting the cap off, Yuuri takes a drink before glancing pointedly at the TV. 

“Another?” he asks with a smile. 

Yuri nods. “Fuck yeah, I gotta kick your ass again.” 

 

~*~

 

A few days later, Yuuri’s sitting in his office when the door is opened without warning. Looking up, he’s not surprised to see Yuri closing the door behind him. “Hey, Katsudon?”

“What is it?” Yuuri asks.

“What would you do?”

Gesturing at the seat in front of him, Yuuri invites him to sit down. Yuri does so, throwing his legs over one arm and leaning against the other.

“I assume you’re talking about Viktor?” Yuuri asks. He takes off his crown, setting it to the side while he rubs his temples. Yuri makes a noncommittal grunt, looking out the window.

Sighing, Yuuri rests his elbows on his desk. “I can’t tell you what to do,” he says. “I can’t tell you what’s best. You heard me talk about my relationship, or lack of one, with my dad, so my views should be clear.”

Looking down, Yuri seems to slouch further in the seat, pulling his legs up so his feet are on the armrest. The upholstery’s just been redone, and while Yuuri feels he ought to say something, there are more important things to address. “Yura,” he says, with little patience for the indirectness that accompanies court interactions, “Viktor cares about you, he said so in Detroit, even. He’s there if you want that relationship with him. At this point, it’s in your hands.”

Yuri’s silent. Staring at his knees, he seems lost in thought for a bit. As it draws on, Yuuri looks back down at the paperwork on his desk. It’s a work requisition for updated electrical wiring in some area of the palace that hasn’t been modernized in far too long. He finishes reading the list of repairs, the proposed work and materials needed, and has just signed and stamped with the King’s Seal when Yuri speaks again.

“What’s for dinner?” he asks.

“Fish,” Yuuri responds. “If you’d prefer something else I can ask the kitchen if they can accommodate it.”

Yuri shrugs, swinging his feet over the side of the chair. “Fish is fine,” he mumbles. Standing up, he wanders towards the door, opening it as he looks back. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Yuuri looks at him. He likely wants to know when he might have uninterrupted time with Viktor. Or he’s just being nosy about Yuuri’s schedule. Either way, answering isn’t going to do any harm so he does. “I’m busy most of the morning, I have a conference sort of… meeting thing. After that, I’m free.”

Nodding, Yuri makes brief eye contact before looking at the floor. “Spacibo.” It’s barely more than a whisper, and Yuri staunchly avoids eye contact again as he says it, but Yuuri just smiles.

“Any time,” he says. “I’ll see you for dinner.” Nodding, Yuri closes the door after himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update should be Yuuri at Russian Nationals, if I can flesh it out enough, and it will likely be up in the next month or so. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!!!


	5. Caught in a Landslide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a child, Yuuri'd never been able to be sneaky around Madame Lilia. As an adult, he doesn't know why he expected that to change somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This entire chapter takes place during [The Nature of Things Chapter 05,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228548/chapters/31682985) while Yuuri is at Russian Nationals.

Yuuri glances nervously around the competition venue, adjusting his face mask and pulling his beanie down as his eyes wander across the crowd. Minako had assured him she’d be able to help, but hadn’t elaborated further. Just told him help would find him. He pulls his phone out and fiddles with it, going back through his messages to see if there was some scrap of information he’d forgotten. He’s three days back when a small, bony hand grasps his shoulder.

“You are Yuuri Katsuki?”

He whips around to see a severe-looking woman he recognizes as Lilia Baranovskaya.

_ Not good. This is very much not good. _

Lilia is a reasonably familiar face. In addition to being on Viktor’s team (and his long-time ballet instructor), she’s a colleague of Minako’s he’d met on several occasions before he’d left the palace, and therefore a person with a much-higher-than-usual chance of recognizing him. As much as he’d seen her, he didn’t get to know her well enough to hazard a guess as to how she’d react if she figured it out now. He fiddles with his face mask nervously, praying it will do the job and keep his secret. He can’t afford to have everything blow up in his face. Not now, not so close to him having to give up this life for good. He doesn’t want this to end before it has to.

He’d never expected to feel so sad about going home.

“Yuuri Katsuki, yes?” He nods mutely.  _ What the fuck was Minako thinking?! _

“I am Lilia Baranovskaya, I worked with Minako Okukawa.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Yuuri replies automatically, with a small bow.

A perfectly manicured eyebrow is raised. “Indeed. Come with me.”

He’s lead through the venue as a badge is shoved into his hand.

“Put that on.”

He complies, draping the lanyard around his neck. They’re making their way into competitors’ area now, receiving cursory nods from security as they head into the warm-up space. Lilia guides him into an empty office before shutting the door behind her. A cold feeling grows in the pit of his stomach as the stern woman looks him over.

“Ms. Okukawa made it clear you wanted to avoid the press,” she says as she sits at the desk.

Yuuri nods again, taking a seat opposite her.

“You are aware, Mr. Katsuki, that accompanying Viktor Nikiforov at the Russian National Championships brings with it a certain level of attention.”

“I am,” Yuuri replies, voice shaking. “I can’t impress upon you how crucial it is, though, for me to avoid interacting with the media. As much as possible.”

Lilia leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. Her posture reminds Yuuri of Minako’s. Flawless. Beautiful. Intimidating. Yuuri swallows his nerves, he hadn’t remembered her quite like this.

“This is a lot of trouble to go through. On your part, yes, but especially on ours.”

“I understand that, Madame, and I appreciate every effort you’re willing to make on my behalf,” Yuuri says. He takes a deep breath before he continues. “The truth is, I wanted to make sure I saw Vitya skate in person, because… I’m not sure how long I have. With him. This may be my last chance. This may be _ his _ last chance to have me cheering him on.” That didn’t sound cryptic at all, and Yuuri barely manages to avoid wincing. Why can’t he just act like a normal person? He’s been doing it for years, there’s no reason he should be messing up so badly now.

She frowns as she leans back in her chair. “Elaborate, Mr. Katsuki. Is this what you might call a ‘Joy Ride’? Vitya has had enough people try to use him that I hesitate to allow another attempt.”

“N-no, Madame Lilia, I swear. It’s not like that,” he winces as her eyes narrow. That was what he’d called her when he was a child, when ‘Baranovskaya’ caused him to frustratingly trip over his own tongue to the point of tears.  He pushes his sleeve up and massages his forearm, anxiously running his thumb over the scarred-over goose bite. “I love him. Circumstances, however, have made my ability to stay in his life… uncertain. Regardless of how much I want to be with him.”

When he looks up at her, there’s a curious expression on her face. Shock. Disbelief.

_ Recognition.  _

_ The scar. _

He pulls his sleeve down quickly, but the damage is done.

“Crown Prince Yuuri,” she says quietly. It’s not a question. He bites his lower lip, eyes wide. If that’s how this is going to be…

Yuuri leans back in his chair. “I trust you will keep this in confidence, Madame Lilia?” He’s managing to play the part of a prince, but his heart is pounding and his thoughts are racing and everything,  _ everything _ he’s worked so hard to build and maintain could come crashing down around him, even sooner than expected. He’s not coming back from Akitsushima. Somehow, somewhere deep in his gut he knows this. Once he’s back in the public eye, well… travelling with an entourage will be awkward at best, and he’s not sure Viktor will even want him there to begin with. He curses himself for not remembering his scar. Long sleeves were standard for public appearances back home, so the scar wasn’t common knowledge, but Lilia’d been  _ there _ when he’d run, crying, into Minako’s arms while the guards chased off the goose. She’d been there talking to him, distracting and reassuring him, as Minako had wiped the blood off and bandaged the injury, holding him close and tickling his stomach in search of a smile.

She knew what she was seeing the instant she saw it.

“Rest assured, I will say nothing.” Madame Lilia’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Ms. Okukawa is a valued colleague of mine. I would not betray her trust, Your Highness, nor that of your family.” Yuuri lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, allowing his shoulders to sag forward.

“I have to ask, since I’m still officially in hiding, you address me by my assumed name instead of by title. Even in private, as we can’t assure complete security. Also that you just… treat me normally. Like you would if you didn’t know.”

After a long moment, she nods. “Come, Mr. Katsuki. It is almost Vitya’s turn on the ice.”

He stands to leave, but before she opens the door, he stops her. “Madame Lilia? Vitya… he doesn’t know. Not yet. I need it to stay that way until my security team allows me to tell him.”

“You intend to tell him soon, though.”

“Yes, absolutely. The instant I have their okay.”

She gives a curt nod before heading out.

As they walk, Yuuri notices she takes a back route, with fewer people. He adjusts his medical mask anyway. When they come into the arena, Lilia keeps herself between him and the rink, walking in the darker areas until they reach Yakov. She leans over and whispers something into Yakov’s ear, to which he replies with a grunt and cursory glance at Yuuri.

Viktor makes it rinkside with less than a minute to spare, and Yakov shoves him onto the ice. He greets the audience, skating a few circles around the rink, but his brow is furrowed, searching the sea of people for something.

When Viktor’s eyes come to rest on Yuuri, shock and disbelief flicker across his face. Yuuri waves, and Viktor seems to light up. Skating another circle, Viktor reorients himself, moving to the center of the rink and taking his opening position. The music starts, Viktor gracefully moving into his routine, and Yuuri's heart soars in response. 

 

As Viktor moves into his final spin, Yuuri's broken out of his trance by a hand on his shoulder. Lilia leans down, whispering into his ear. “Mr. Katsuki, Mila is ready to take you to the hotel. Vitya is not likely to be able to avoid the press for long in the arena.”

Yuuri nods in understanding. “Thank you, Madame Lilia,” he murmurs.

A redheaded girl makes her way over, and after a quick introduction and hushed, rapid instructions from Lilia, she guides Yuuri out of the arena. The walk over to the hotel is short, but the cold December air cuts through Yuuri's scarf. He wraps it more tightly around his neck as Mila smiles at him.

“So, what is so special you have to avoid reporters?” she asks, accent curling around the words.

Yuuri appraises her, before answering. “I’m just… not comfortable with them. They make me anxious.”

She looks at him again, it’s clear she doesn’t quite believe him, but instead of pressing the matter, she shrugs.

They reach the hotel lobby, and Mila pulls her scarf over her head. “People notice my hair,” she explains when they’re alone in the elevator, “especially when I’m competing. It is like having a secret identity.” She laughs genially. Yuuri forces a smile and small chuckle.

Secret identity indeed.

Yuuri sighs in relief when they reach the door. Mila swipes a key card, letting him in.

“You don’t need anything before the door is locked?”

When Yuuri shakes his head, she closes the door. He removes his jacket, scarf, and beanie, before taking a seat on the sofa to wait.

 

~*~

 

The humiliation of trying to kiss Viktor’s brother fades quickly after Yuuri meets his family. They end up going out for dinner, Viktor and Alexei both hiding their hair under beanies. Viktor slips the host a few thousand rubles (“To make sure we have a good table and plenty of privacy,” he explains when Yuuri asks,) and they’re taken to a table near the rear, in what almost qualifies as a private room. From his seat, Yuuri can see into the dining room, watching as Hana, miraculously, gets a seat at a good vantage point. They make eye contact, but show no signs of knowing each other. 

“So Yuuri,” Hilaire says, “how long have you and Viktor known each other?”

“Maman, I—”

“Hush, Vitka, I want to talk to Yuuri.”

“We met last spring,” Yuuri replies, “but didn’t get together until fall.”

“And you knew who he was?” She’s leveling him with a serious gaze, but she doesn’t look angry.

“Maman,  _ please,” _ Viktor says.

If he were home, Yuuri’d likely need to act indignant, offended that she’d question his motivations. If he could be open, he could assuage her fears by saying Vitya’s fame (and money) is, ultimately, of neither consequence nor benefit to him. He will lead a nation regardless of whether or not Viktor is by his side. As it is, he’s just a barista from Detroit who, as far as Viktor’s family knows, could well be seeking more than just Viktor’s company.

“I did,” Yuuri says, taking Viktor’s hand, “but I can assure you, I started out just trying to be friendly. The relationship grew from there. It was never my  _ goal _ to end up with Vitya, it just… sort of happened.”

“Maman,” Viktor says, “Lilia and Yakov have already spoken with him, you don't have to.”

“Lilia and Yakov aren't your parents,” she says, “and we've never met Yuuri before. You haven’t even let us  _ talk _ to him,” she says. 

There’s a glimmer of pain on Viktor’s face but he hides it well. Yuuri squeezes his hand. “I'm afraid that’s my fault,” Yuuri says. “I’m…” Trying to figure out how to explain that Yuuri’s behind the relative secrecy of their relationship will be tricky at best if he wants to avoid inquiries. He also needs to be careful and avoid suspicious inconsistencies as far as Viktor is concerned. 

The security team really needs to hurry up with this, the lies are getting more uncomfortable by the day, they’re leaving for Hasetsu in less than a week, and Viktor  _ deserves to know. _

“You're…” Alexei prompts, drawing out the word. 

“Sorry,” Yuuri says. “I’m just… a very private person. I wanted to take things slowly in order to have time to get used to stuff. Vitya’s been kind enough to take things at my pace, letting me ease into things. I’m in the middle of finishing up my degree, as well, and that’s occupied much of my time.”

“Understandable,” Alexandra says. “What’s your degree in?”

“Political Science,” Yuuri answers. “I'm minoring in Communications as well.”

“Do you want to be a politician?” Alexei asks. 

_ Mostly because politics are all I know. _

“I’ll likely end up working in government, but as far as what exactly I'd like to do, I'm not sure.”

“Local, state, or federal?” Hilaire asks.

It makes sense for them to assume he’s American and going into American politics. Instead of giving an answer, he shrugs. “I don't currently have a definite plan,” he lies. He knows exactly what’s going to happen. He will go home. He will become either regent or king. He will rule the country. None of that can actually be  _ said, _ though, so he takes a sip of the beer he’d ordered with dinner.

“So what do your parents do?”

Wincing, Viktor looks over at Yuuri. He knows Yuuri doesn’t like to talk about his family, albeit not exactly why, but it’s a sore spot Viktor tends to do his best to avoid. Yuuri looks down at his food, letting himself look as sad as he is about mentions of his family.

“We don’t have a very close relationship,” Yuuri says, “though I’m planning on seeing them in the near future.”  _ Like in a week. Maybe. _ Yuuri resists sighing, instead taking another sip of his beer. “Sorry,” he says, “I just don’t talk about them much. It’s been a while since I’ve seen them, it’s… not been pleasant.”

He gets a round of sympathetic looks, and something in him wonders if they’d still show sympathy if they knew about the lies. Somehow, he doubts it.

_ “Hi, my name is Yuuri and I’ve been lying to your son about my entire identity for going on a year now. Also did I mention I’m a prince? Because I am, surprise!” _ The thought would be amusing if he hadn’t spent months getting more and more stressed out about this very thing. He’ll fire off another email at the security team tonight, maybe send a copy to his mother and Mari. Maybe several more to the head of the security team specifically. Maybe he’ll call them when he gets home and have a nice argument.

“We didn't mean to upset you,” Alexandra says. 

Yuuri smiles. “It’s fine, my situation is unusual, I’m used to questions.”

“Psst.” Next to him, Katya’s trying to get his attention. 

“Yes?” he asks. 

“Vitya says you can’t cook.”

Yuuri blushes, glancing over only to see Viktor bright red. He says something to her in Russian, almost harsh, and looks sheepish when he meets Yuuri’s eyes again. “Sorry,” he says. 

“It’s okay,” Yuuri replies. He smiles, looking back at Katya. “I'm an awful cook,” he says. “Vitya’s been helping me learn, though.”

“Did you not have an opportunity before?” Hilaire asks as she cuts her steak. 

“I took a lot of extra classes when I was younger,” he says. “My sister— who raised me— did the cooking and stuff. Especially after I started high school, because I had a lot more school work. I mean, before I moved out I learned how to make sandwiches and use the microwave and whatnot I just never learned to properly  _ cook.”  _ Though he used to feel guilty talking about Hana as his older sister instead of Mari, it's long since faded. For all intents and purposes, she  _ is _ his sister. She raised him, and he barely even  _ knows _ Mari. 

“And now?” 

“I help clean but I order takeout when I'm supposed to be providing food. My, uhh… my roommate banned me from the kitchen after I blew up his pressure cooker.”

Alexei snorts. Hilaire shoots him a withering glare across the table and he looks back at his food. Looking back at Yuuri, Hilaire frowns. “Has no one offered to teach you how to cook?”

“Vitya did,” Yuuri says. “We’ve cooked together some, he’s a good coach. I mean, my roommate tried, but after I burned the handles off two of his pans he gave up. Vitya’s been really patient with me, though, and I can make pancakes now!”

Alexandra smiles. “That's our boy,” she says with pride. 

Viktor’s blushing more now as he shoves a carrot in his mouth. It’s cute, and Yuuri kisses his nose before blushing himself and taking a sip of his beer. 

“Anyways,” he continues, “I've been learning. Getting better. We haven’t had  _ too _ many accidents.”

“There was the pancake on the ceiling,” Viktor says. 

“That was  _ once,” _ Yuuri hisses, going what he’s sure is a charming shade of bright red. 

“Right, the other time was an  _ egg.” _ Grinning, Viktor's eyes shine as Yuuri mock-scowls at him.

“At least I didn't drop a steak on the floor for Makkachin.”

“Makkachin  _ appreciates _ my cooking, thank you,” Viktor replies.

“When have I ever  _ not _ appreciated your cooking?” Yuuri asks. Viktor takes a long moment to search for a response but comes up empty. “That's what I thought,” Yuuri says smugly before turning back to his food. 

 

~*~

 

“Mr… Mr. Katsuki,” Lilia says once they’re around the corner she’s all but dragged Yuuri behind, “I just wanted to confirm the dates that you and Vitya will be in Hasetsu. I've received a tentative invitation to a Ball being held by the Royal Family in a few months, and I know Vitya has said your stay will be indefinite. I was hoping for the opportunity to meet him for lunch while I was in the country.”

_ Oh.  _ She’s likely talking about the Ball being held in honor of Yuuri’s return, wanting to know if he’ll be attending with Viktor. If, of course, Viktor doesn't hop on the first plane to Detroit. 

“We’ll likely still be there unless something comes up,” he says. “There is a lot to be done with regards to my schoolwork, and I was going to be spending some time with family. I'm hoping to introduce them to Vitya.” The message is clear: he’s going home. After fifteen long years, the Crown Prince of Sachima is returning, and the confirmation seems to sadden her. 

“Vitya told me your father isn’t doing well.”

No, he didn't. He doesn't know anything about Yuuri’s family, but it’s a convenient way for her to ask about the state of things without drawing suspicion. Morose, Yuuri sighs. 

“He isn’t,” he whispers. Her eyes widen, barely, but she closes them and nods. 

“That is unfortunate,” she responds. “I wish you only the best, as far as circumstances go.”

“Thank you.” It sounds quiet, shaky, and almost scared, and Yuuri feels a prickling in his eyes and a lump on his throat and he  _ can’t _ cry. Not here, not now. Not when Viktor will be coming to find him at any second. Lilia frowns. She knows what's in Yuuri’s future, and he isn't surprised that she, too, seems concerned. 

“Vitya loves you,” she says, uncharacteristically kind. “We haven't seen him this happy in years. I believe he’ll do his best to support you through this.” It’s reassurance in her own way, that even  _ she _ doesn't think Viktor will just pack up and leave, but the voice in the back of Yuuri’s head says otherwise, tells him that it’s going to be too much, too big, too draining, too soon. Another voice asks if she really knows this. If she knows Viktor well enough to be able to say something like this with such conviction that Yuuri can  _ almost _ let himself believe it. 

Viktor has talked about her before, about the years in his adolescence spent dealing with her strict, overbearing control over almost every aspect of his life and appearance, about how she hardly seems to pay attention otherwise. It’s markedly different from how Yuuri remembers her, from how she's acting now, but it’s clear that they have two different perceptions of the same person. Maybe she’s changed, maybe she’s just harsher with her students. (It could be that she’s nicer to Yuuri because he’s royalty, but that would just make him feel worse about the fond memories he has with her, and he’s still clinging to any sort of sense of comfort and familiarity he can get, so he pushes the thought aside.)

“Thank you,” he repeats. 

“Yuuri?!” Viktor’s voice filters through the halls. 

Eyes wide, Yuuri takes a deep breath and schools his face into something decidedly less depressed. Lilia gives him a sympathetic look, but her face slips back into its usual scowl just as Viktor turns the corner. “Yuuri, there you are!” he says, smiling as he comes over to kiss him. 

“Vitya, your exhibition was beautiful,” Yuuri replies. “Stunning.”

Viktor beams. “Thank you,” he says. “I'm glad you here to see it. What were you guys talking about?”

“I was thanking Madame Lilia for dealing with my anxiety and all the sneaking and shit,” he replies easily. “She’s been nice about all the… weirdness.” He wiggles his fingers for emphasis, and Viktor laughs. Wrapping his arm around Yuuri’s waist, Viktor pulls him closer, planting a kiss on his temple. 

“How are you feeling, Lyubov?”

“Eh. We’ll be at the hotel soon,” Yuuri says. “Am I meeting you there?” 

Glancing around, Viktor bites his lip and nods. “It'll probably be easier,” he says, “I know how the press can be where I'm concerned, especially here in Russia. I can bring food?”

Yuuri nods, looking back at Lilia. “Thanks again,” he says with a nervous smile. 

Lilia merely nods in return. “Vitya,” she says, “you have an interview to do before lunch tomorrow, don't be late.”

“I won’t,” he replies with an attempt at a smile. 

“And make sure you look presentable. It wouldn't do for Russia’s reigning National Champion to look like he just rolled out of bed. Run a comb through your hair at the very least, I know how you can get after a competition.” Yuuri keeps his face neutral. Her tone has definitely changed since she was alone with Yuuri to something more demanding. Something harsher. Viktor takes it in stride, though. 

“Of course,” he responds dutifully. “I'll ensure my appearance is impeccable.”

“Good. I will see you tomorrow,” she says. Looking at Yuuri, she gives a nod vaguely reminiscent of a bow. “Mr. Katsuki, I hope your journey to the United States goes well.”

“Thanks!” Yuuri says cheerfully. Looking back up at Viktor, he does his best to smile like his conversation with Lilia hadn’t reminded him of everything that’s going on. Everything he’s about to gain, everything he’s about to lose, and everything he’s hoping for, as impossible as it may seem. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe me if I said the _next_ side story I had in mind for Yuuri's PoV would be fun? (I wouldn't believe me either...) I'm not sure when it'll be out, as I haven't started it yet, but it'll be out... at some point.
> 
> I also have a tumblr prompt I ought to stick in here, if I don't expand it a bit. (Soon.)
> 
> TNOT will be updated in two weeks, thanks for sticking with me!!


	6. Hanazakari (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Hanazakari (花盛り):** _The time of year when flower blossoms are in full bloom._
> 
> Kataoka Hana grew up with stories of Akitsushima's Royal Guard and had always dreamed of joining. The first thing she didn't expect was to almost immediately get assigned to guard His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Yuuri.
> 
> The second thing she didn't expect was to get close to the young Prince.
> 
> The third thing she didn't expect was... well, anything after that.
> 
> Written for my beloved [@rikichie's](https://rikichie.tumblr.com/) birthday!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is Yuuri's story, told from Hana's point of view. I've included it in All This and Heaven, Too, because it's extremely Yuuri-centric and summarizes the time from when Hana first started working as his bodyguard up until they're on their way to Russia, with a huge focus on pre-TNOT years. (Also there are only going to be two chapters and as I have at least one more (small) AU planned for Dragonflies/TNOT 'verse, I want to keep the number of stories connected to TNOT limited for ease of reading/organizing.)
> 
> Also I know I promised I had a happy idea for this story and I _still do,_ I just haven't written it yet whoops.
> 
>  **Warnings:** brief description of the attack that sent Yuuri into hiding (including the death of his other bodyguard) and a lot of pain.

At nineteen years old, Kataoka Hana, new member of the Akitsushiman Royal Guard, gets one of the most prestigious assignments available: guard the young Crown Prince. Six years of age, the boy is sweet, if distinctly royal. He nods regally in her direction when she bows to him, and promptly asks her if she likes katsudon. When she replies that she does like it, very much, he smiles and says “me, too.” It’s endearing, and she thinks she may grow to love this assignment.

He’s a well-behaved child, for the most part, though his life is more regimented than Hana’s in some ways. In the barracks, Hana is prodded. “What is the Prince like?” the guards ask. They see him walking the halls with his father, running from his sister, but there’s little personal interaction. As the Royal Guard, they’re a fixture of the background, an ever-present rotation of unknown names and vaguely familiar faces tasked with ensuring the family’s security.

“He’s fun,” she says, to their surprise. “He’s a nice kid. Not as much of a brat as you’d think. He offered me some of his blocks to play with, the other day.”

“Did you?” they ask.

“Of course,” she replies. “I was supposed to be watching him, and he wanted me to play.”

“And you didn’t get in trouble?”

“No. Her Royal Majesty thought it endearing, though cautioned me against doing it anywhere but in private.” The Queen had been watching with a fond smile from the doorway when Hana had looked up. Sheepish, she’d backed away from the young Prince, standing to bow as she asked for forgiveness. She hadn’t gotten that far.

“He doesn’t have to go for a few minutes yet,” the Queen had said. “Feel free to continue until then.”

The Prince had set aside his blocks anyway, running over to his mother with a huge grin on his face. “Kaa-chan,” he’d said, “Hana-san was playing with me! We were building Hasetsu!!”

Apparently they’d been building the city they live in. Hana had thought he’d just been making a random town, but when she’d looked again, she’d seen the Ninja Castle on the hill, the Palace with its grounds and gardens stretching for acres around the massive building itself. Through a child’s eye, it had been a very good replica, and she’d smiled at the Queen.

“His Royal Highness has been a joy, Your Majesty,” she’d said.

Queen Hiroko had smiled and taken her hand. “Thank you, Hana-chan,” she’d said. “He’s really taken a liking to you.”

Hana had smiled and bowed, and prepared to escort the Prince to his first day of school.

 

~*~

 

She gets to know him better, gets to see the child hidden behind the image of the nation’s future King. The way he’s portrayed, he’s so incredibly serious, bearing the responsibility of being Heir Apparent with a strangely mature grace. Hana wonders if the press would say the same thing if they’d seen her pulling chocolate chip cookies out of his pocket for the third time that week, wondering how she was going to explain to Their Majesties why their son, once again, had melted chocolate in his nice school pants. At least this time it’s not a formal party. When she tells the King and Queen, voice shaking as she remains in a bow, she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder. Looking up, the King is smiling at her.

“Hana-san, he’s almost seven years old,” he says. “He’s going to do stuff like this. Don’t apologize for him being a child, especially not when he’s at home.”

“Yes, Sire,” she replies.

The King nods, instructs the Prince’s governess to get him changed into a formal outfit, and smiles at Hana. “You’re doing fine,” he reassures, “we expect Yuuri to act his age.”

Later, she’s watching the young Prince as he runs in the gardens of a higher-ranking noble. At first he remarks about how small everything is. The estate, though massive, pales in comparison to the Royal Palace. There for dinner, the King, Queen, and Princess are sitting on the terrace while they chat with the noble and his wife. With no other children his age, the Prince is left to run around while they wait to eat.

Hana knows he’s only allowed this liberty because of the family’s closeness to the Queen.

Small feet crunch on gravel before stumbling in the direction of grass, and when Hana looks over, Prince Yuuri is just sitting up on the lawn. Jogging over, Hana kneels next to him.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

Though his lip is wobbling, the Prince nods, wiping quickly at his eyes.

“You sure?” Hana checks again. Looking up to the terrace, Prince Yuuri looks back down at his hands.

“I-I'm sure,” he stammers. “I gotta be.”

“Oh?”

“It's practice,” he says calmly after a single hiccup. “For when I'm King.” Holding out his hands, he waits for her to take them, pulling himself to his feet when she does. He brushes off his front, letting her get his back. “I need to go wash my hands now.”

Walking into the house, he clearly expects her to stay with him.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Hana says as she follows dutifully. Though only one of several guards she’s one of the closest, but he still keeps a distance between them at times. Whether that’s a bad thing, she’s not entirely sure, but it tells her a lot about how he sees himself in this world. Six-and-a-half years old, and the young Crown Prince feels untouchable.

 

~*~

 

At the Prince’s seventh birthday party, Hana stands tall next to one of the doors. He plays with the other kids well enough, everyone takes turns sliding on their socks across the ballroom floor, but they seem to tiptoe around him even so young. The adults present do, as well, and Hana wonders how it must feel for him. Before the party, in a very adult manner, he’d expressed his concerns to his parents that the room might not be big enough. The ballroom. It’s not even the smallest in the Palace, but considering the invitees number well into the dozens, it serves its purpose. He’d had no reason for concern, his father had demonstrated at the start of the party, and he had nodded sagely, and done his best to enjoy the festivities.

“Hana-san,” she hears next to her, in a small voice. Looking down, she sees the Prince, and bows her head before crouching down to his level.

“What is it, Your Highness?”

He glances around furtively. “I gotta pee.”

Stifling a snort, she smiles at him. “Would you like me to accompany you?” Nodding, he takes her hand and leads her out of the room. Chattering away while they walk, he tells her about the party, about the snacks he’d asked for, about the guests and the presents he'd been given. About the fact he feels bad because he wants to go back to his room.

“There are a lot of people,” Hana agrees. “It can be very tiring to be around so many people sometimes.”

The young Prince nods, squeezing her hand in his. She takes a seat in the sitting room outside the bathroom the Prince chooses, waiting as she first hears him singing, and then the flush of the toilet and the sound of the sink. When he comes out, he walks automatically over to her and lets her straighten his shirt, tie his pants properly. Apprehensive, he looks back at the door, then at Hana, then back at the door, then at Hana…

“Do you need a moment to collect yourself, Your Highness?” She asks with a smile.

The Prince nods. He climbs on a nearby chair, pulling his knees to his chest. They stay in silence for a few minutes, before Hana speaks again.

“We’re going to need to head back, soon. People are going to miss you, you’re the—”

“Crown Prince,” he mutters. “I know.” Hana had been going to say he was the birthday boy, but… first and foremost, he’s the Prince, and his presence will be missed regardless of whose party it is.

She smiles at him. “You’ll be alright,” she says reassuringly. “Your family is there with you.”

“And you’ll be there?” he asks.

Hana nods. “Of course I’ll be there.” She doesn’t mention that it’s her job. Unlikely to make the Prince feel better as it is, she knows, too, that she’d have stayed anyway.

Sighing in the manner of someone much older than himself, the Prince stands, brushes off his outfit, and nods determinedly. They make their way back to the party, but before they go through the wooden doors he stops, biting his lower lip. Hana kneels again.

“It's your birthday, Your Highness,” Hana says. “You can have fun today.”

He looks at her skeptically. Looking around to make sure they’re alone, Hana reaches towards him, adjusting the small circlet he’s wearing before straightening his shirt collar.

“Ready?” She asks. He glances at the doors, then meets her eyes.

“Yes,” he says, resigned. “I suppose.”

She smiles reassuringly. The Prince gives a shy smile in return, before nodding at her to open the door. As she does, he squares his shoulders, smiles, and walks back into the festivities.

 

~*~

 

Now that he’s seven, the Prince takes on a bit of a more public role in the monarchy. Accompanying his parents and sister on appearances, he learns to better handle himself with grace in public. It’s not a constant, His Royal Highness is, after all, a child and therefore prone to the emotional turbulence that accompanies being so young, but it’s enough that it can be unnerving sometimes. He smiles at the press, waves happily as he walks by. The people of Akitsushima call him their darling.

At many of these appearances, Hana is a fixture of the background in her guard’s uniform. She’s present when the Royal Family go to the Summer Palace for vacation. She’s present when the Prince explores the shoreline, pointing out nice rocks and favorite swimming areas here and there. He grows to trust her, to an extent. To greatly prefer her company over that of his other guards and she doesn’t blame him. The King and Queen prefer that the Prince’s guards be people he is comfortable with, and so Hana is made officially part of his main entourage rotation.

 

When he’s attacked, she’s shaken as hard as everyone else. There at the time, she sees him open the box, sees the cookies, sees him hand one to Ayumi and— and then Ayumi drops to the floor, quickly beginning to convulse. By the time Hana figures out what’s going on and whisks the young Prince into her arms, turning him so he can’t see, she knows it’s too late. Crying, all he can do is ask what’s happening, why there’s chaos and shouting and he clings as Hana runs him to the limousine, puts her body in between his and any assailants. The Princess is shoved in by her personal guard, Their Royal Majesties following shortly before the bulletproof limousine tears back to the palace. Prince Yuuri crawls into his mother’s lap, wraps himself around her as Hana sits in stunned disbelief. She lets his parents explain, and when she’s home that night she collapses into her mother’s arms.

“I was so scared,” she says, “and Ayumi— she—”

“You’re okay,” her mother replies. She doesn’t talk about how Hana chose to be a guard. She doesn’t talk about how they’re told, their first day of training, that to guard the Royal Family is to willingly give your life for them if necessary. It could have been Hana, very easily. Prince Yuuri is a sweet kid, generous, and he might have handed Hana the cookie laced with poison.

He might have eaten it, himself.

Understandably, the Royal Family is horrified. Prince Yuuri is terrified, and doesn't seem to mind being restricted to the Palace. Hana’s hours are increased— the Prince is accompanied at all times by at least two guards and as he seems comfortable with Hana, the Royal Family has requested her presence regularly. She's happy to accommodate, and becomes a constant at his side.

 

Two weeks later, Hana is personally summoned to the King of Akitsushima’s office and asked to make one of the most pivotal decisions of her life.

“I know it’s late,” he says as she bows deeply, “and I wouldn’t have called you here if it wasn’t of utmost importance. I must order your discretion regarding the subject of this meeting, at all costs.”

“Yes, Sire,” Hana says as she straightens up. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she sees it hit a quarter after three as the King turns to address her.

“We are asking this of a small number of you,” His Royal Majesty says, “and of those who accept, we will be choosing only one person.”

This doesn’t sound good. Hana glances over at the Queen, standing near the window, frowning.

“Hana-san. We have decided that for his safety, my son must go into hiding.”

Chest gone cold, Hana can do nothing but hold her pose, standing straight as His Majesty addresses her. “As my wife and I are unable to accompany him, and his sister isn’t in line for the throne and not actively being threatened, he will be leaving alone and we need someone to go with him, to care for him. Preferably as a sibling of sorts, as our enemies may look for a child and parent figure.”

“For how long, Sire?” Hana asks. She knows she’s willing to go already. She cares about the Prince, and knows that he’s not closer to anyone else at this point. The rest of his guard are too busy treating him like the King he will be rather than the child he is now. Hesitant, the King looks at her.

“We’re not sure,” he replies. “For now, we’re hoping a year or two, at most.”

“For now, Sire?”

He levels her with a tired gaze. “We don’t know. It could be a month, it could be several years. We’ll be doing what we can to ensure it’s as soon as possible, but we can’t give a solid time frame. I understand completely if this is a dealbreaker.”

“Not as such, Sire,” Hana says. If she does this, she’d be leaving home behind. If she chooses to leave, it may be years before she sees her mother again, if she ever does.

If she accepts this assignment, she knows the young Prince is with someone with his best interests at heart, who won’t let him get hurt and will treat him like the child he is. Her decision is made.

Looking at her, the King stands still, frowning. “You wouldn’t consider the real possibility of an extended absence something that would automatically make you reject this?”

“No, Sire,” Hana says. “I consider it part of doing my job, should I be asked to take this on. His Royal Highness is going to need someone to take care of him, and as… as you and your wife know, His Royal Highness and I are friendly with each other. Better me than a stranger.”

“Better you than many people,” the Queen says from where she is. Turning, she walks towards them. “My son quite enjoys having you around. He’s described you as nice, as caring. He says you _see_ him when you look at him.”

“I do my best, Ma’am,” Hana replies.

“You do,” the Queen says, “and your best is exemplary. You are willing to take this on if we ask you to? To go with him, wherever it is he’s sent, and to watch over him at any and all costs in our stead?”

“Yes, Your Majesties,” Hana says. “I give my word.”

 

~*~

 

At twenty-one years old, Kataoka Hana is given orders she’s already accepted to leave the only home she has ever known. The month she spends preparing in secrecy drags into eternity but as it comes to a close, she’s startled by the speed at which it had flown by. Armed with new knowledge, codes, equipment, forged identities and an envelope full of cash, she’s called into the palace in the middle of the night during a predetermined range of days for their departure. The King allows her to use his private phone to call her mother and tell her goodbye. What joy her mother seems to have hearing that she’s accepted an assignment as His Royal Highness’s personal full-time guard is quickly dashed when she hears what’s going on.

“Were you going to tell me?” she asks, hurt.

“I was under orders not to,” Hana replies softly. “You’re a member of the Guard, Kaa-san, you know how it is.”

“I do,” her mother says. “I do, promise me you’ll keep in touch?”

Heart rending itself in two, Hana takes a deep, shaky breath. “I won’t be able to,” she says, “until the Palace gives the go-ahead. They’ll be keeping you posted as much as they can, but it won’t be much more than that I’m alive.” Her mother, tearful, says she understands and hopes Hana comes back safe. Alive. Hana promises to do what she can, and when, after a choked, tear-filled goodbye, her mother asks if Hana needs her to be the one to hang up. Hana whispers a yes, and the line disconnects. Adrenaline blankets her fear, and when the Crown Prince is brought to her, sleepy, scared, and crying, she crouches down to his level.

“Are you ready, Your Highness?” she asks.

He shakes his head, turns and clings to his mother’s dressing gown until she, crying as well, bends down and pulls him into her arms.

“Be strong, Yuuri,” the Queen says through the anguish of sending her youngest child away. “We’ll see you soon, you’ll come home when it’s safe. Tou-chan’s going to work to make it safe for you again.”

The King, openly crying as well, clutches his son to himself. “You’re going to be pretending to be a commoner, and pretending to have different names, but in here,” he says, putting his hand on the Prince’s chest, “you are Yuuri, Crown Prince of Akitsushima. Remember this. Remember us, and remember we love you.”

Nodding, the Prince wipes his eyes, chokes back sobs as his sister gives him a hug, holding him tightly.

“We’ll play together again soon, okay?” she asks her little brother, wiping tears off his face even as hers fall in heavy drops. Fourteen years old and she looks younger than Hana’s ever seen her. The Princess does her best to make him smile, going so far as to tickle him under the cheap hoodie he’s wearing, and he’s happy in his last minutes at home. The time comes when they have to go, when staff at the palace have been ordered away from all exits as not to see them leave. A valet drives an old red pickup over, coming to a stop and loading the few suitcases they have into the back while Hana whispers reminders to her young charge. They have a long drive ahead of them. Though they’re leaving late at night, they’re driving to another airport across the country. Morning flights are rushed, packed, and it’ll be easy to miss a young woman travelling with her little brother out of the second-largest (and oft-overlooked) city in Akitsushima.

Goodbyes are finished, and Hana drives away from the Palace for what could be the last time. On the way, she pulls to the side of the road and cuts the Prince’s hair with a pair of clippers she then disposes of, ruffling it as she adjusts his glasses. Absently, he runs his fingers through it almost constantly as they travel, as if disbelieving that his once-long hair is now missing. One more facet of the life he’d known, thrown into the wind by the fistful, vanishing. He pulls up the hood of his sweater when his neck gets cold and curls up in the backseat as Hana drives, and she can't help but wonder else they could end up losing.

 

~*~

 

Boston is vastly different than anything Hana’s ever experienced, and she does her best to take care of finding them a house. Rent is exorbitantly expensive, but it’s not her money, so she looks for something secure. On arrival, she’d gone to a bank with her forged identity (Kimiko Nakamura, first-generation Sachiman-American daughter of immigrants, with her little brother in tow for stability while their parents travel the globe) and set up an account so she has a way for the palace to (eventually) get her an income. Forged bank statements and work history lend credibility to her lies when she looks for housing, and the young Prince (Takeshi Nakamura, if anyone asks) walks into their new rental home and asks where the rest of it is.

So far, she’s explained how airports work if you don’t board in a private hangar, what money is and how to use it, how normal planes work, how to button his own jeans and do his own zippers, that you have to actually pay for things, that fruit in the supermarket is not for consumption and that supermarkets aren’t as terrifying as they seem, and this, apparently, is something else to go on that list. Taking a deep breath, she pulls their suitcases in and checks how much time she has until the people bringing furniture come.

“Your Highness,” she starts, “do you remember how your parents told you commoners lived in very small houses?”

Nodding, he looks around. “I didn’t know they meant _tiny,_ though.”

“This is a very nice house for commoners,” Hana replies. Two stories, three bedrooms, there’s more than enough room for them. It’s bigger than the house Hana grew up in, and for the first time she realizes how little he truly understands of the world outside the one he grew up in.

“I see,” he says. “Where’re my rooms going to be?”

“One room, Highness,” she says, heading towards the stairs with his suitcases. He follows behind, and she leads him to the master bedroom. She’ll be taking both of the others, he’s used to having an en-suite bathroom, and Hana supposes this is the closest to familiarity he’s going to get. “You’ll have the big bedroom, since I need the other two.”

“Why?” he asks. “I have a sitting room at home, why not here?”

“Highness,” Hana says, “I need one for my guard duties, and one to sleep in. You’re going to have to get used to having a smaller bedroom. You’re pretending to be a commoner, remember?”

“Are you pretending?” he asks.

“No, Sir,” Hana replies. “I was born a commoner.”

“Oh. When do you think we’re gonna go home?”

Hana sighs. “I don’t know, Your Highness.” She’d been wondering when he’d ask, dreading not being able to give an answer. Instead of getting upset, he shrugs and looks around his new room.

 

The first two times she calls him by his assumed name he doesn’t respond, but luckily he does in front of the furniture people. They get everything unloaded and assembled, Hana puts sheets on the beds and newly-purchased kitchenware in the cupboards. Furnishing the house will take a bit, and then she’s supposed to start homeschooling the Prince. He doesn’t seem happy with the situation, wanting to have friends, but he _has_ to get used to this life. He has to learn what it’s like to act like a commoner before they risk him with other children.

Their first night in the new house, Hana is turning the lights off on the way to bed when she hears small, broken sobs coming from the master bedroom and she knocks gently on the door. It opens, a tear-streaked face peeks out from the gap, and she smiles kindly.

“Do you want a hug?” she asks. “I know you must be scared and missing home. I miss home, too.”

“You do?” he asks.

“I do,” she responds. “Do you want to cuddle?”

“Am I allowed to?”

That he thinks he’s not allowed physical contact hurts something in Hana, and she purses her lips. “Your father and mother said I was supposed to be your big sister, remember? At least for pretend while we’re hiding.”

Nodding, the Prince shifts on his feet, turning his toes inward and rubbing them against each other.

Grasping his shoulders gently, Hana makes eye contact with him. “You cuddled with your big sister all the time, right?”

Nodding again, he wipes his eyes with his sleeves and Hana pulls him close. “Do you wanna come sleep in my bed tonight?” she asks in an attempt to make him feel better. It’s what she’d do as a child, too scared or tired to sleep. Her mom always woke up, lifted the covers, gave a sleepy ‘come on, then’ as she welcomed Hana into her arms.

“No,” the Prince says. “You sleep in mine.”

“Very well, Your Highness,” Hana responds.

She does, that night, and every night for the next month.

 

~*~

 

The first year is the hardest on the young Prince. Homeschooling, while essential, is in no way enjoyable. Hana does her best to lessen his isolation. Frequently, they go to parks nearby, wander Boston’s historic streets and eat incredible new foods. It’s a trial getting him to eat anything other than Sachiman food when they’re home, but Hana indulges him. The massive shift in lifestyle, the distance from his family, the circumstances under which they’d left… none of this is easy on him, so she may as well ease his pain where she can.

He gets used to the routine of daily life more quickly than she’d anticipated. For a while, it’s hard to get him to go shopping with her. There are too many people, too many choices, too many things, it’s too crowded too noisy too everything for him, but he does his best to persevere, and she does her best to shop on the off-hours, when the stores are less crowded. His hair starts growing out again, and while the Palace wants it kept short until he’s grown more, she lets him find a comfortable length. He gets used to picking up after himself when asked, though there’s no telling what sort of response Hana will get. Sometimes, he’s happy to help. Other’s he’s every bit the Prince he was raised to be, though he’s never mean when he grumbles about the few basic chores he’s asked to do. She lets him have his moods so long as they aren’t too severe. He needs to keep that bearing, after all, since they could be called home at any time.

Prince Yuuri has taken to talking very little in public. He knows he needs to keep his identity secret, and for now he’s doing well, choosing to see it as sort of a game. Every time someone asks his name, though, Hana’s heart stops in her chest and she has to struggle to keep her smile from faltering, but he manages to give his alias, and with consistency comes confidence that just maybe, they’ll get through this. The next summer brings with it new challenges, even with the distraction of lessons four days of every week. The Prince is irritable, tearful most of the time. He misses his family so incredibly much even Hana can feel the anguish in his sobs. She does her best to tuck her own homesickness deep in her chest.

She can do nothing but tell him (and tell herself) she’ll keep him safe, that they’ll be going home soon.

Some nights, when she’s scared everything will go wrong and the homesickness hurts too much to sleep, she carries her phone around, the one used with the security team, waiting for a call she knows is increasingly unlikely to come.

 

~*~

 

Before they go home, they move to Philadelphia. With two years as a commoner under his belt, the Prince is ready at age ten, Hana believes, to go to school. The Palace doesn’t agree at first, but finally acquiesces. His Royal Highness (now Hiro Kobayashi) does well. The move goes more smoothly than Hana anticipates, Prince Yuuri manages to pick up his new name, rehearsing it and their cover story constantly during the early-morning drive. They rent a hotel suite (“we’re in the market for a house with space,” Hana (now Chiyo Kobayashi) tells the hotel clerk. “I make jewelry, work from home. We moved for job opportunities and our parents are meeting us out here.” The Prince continues to play on his GameBoy, knowing better than to contradict her,) while she finds a secure house.

Settling is almost as hard on Prince Yuuri as it had been the first time, with the exception of not having to learn so many new things about living as a commoner. He still gets scared at night, frequently telling Hana he’d like her to hold him and she does, grounding herself as she wraps her arms around him, makes him feel safe. It’s a miracle he never feels her crying into his hair as she remembers (and misses) her mom. She wants to go home as much as he does sometimes, but she signed up for the long haul.

It won’t be easy, but she’ll be okay, she reminds herself. She has to be.

Emotional regulation is easier for adults, she knows, and the Prince is much younger with fewer skills in that area which is why she's decidedly unsurprised one afternoon when, when he’s all of eleven years old, Prince Yuuri’s new teacher calls her to tell her he’s crying inconsolably.

And then she tells Hana why.

Creeping dread moves from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers and toes, gnawing, constricting everything until she manages to breathe through the alarm.

They’d discussed current events and news stories.

They’d used articles about children about the kids’ age.

One had been on the Lost Prince of Sachima’s disappearance, and aforementioned Prince had started sobbing, insisting that they’d tried to murder the Crown Prince before he’d clammed up. Hana takes a deep breath. The teacher isn't demanding answers, not yet, and is just curious as to why Hana’s little brother has such strong feelings about another country’s Royal Family.

“My family immigrated when I was a child, and even though Hiro was born here, he feels strong ties to Sachima,” she says, rushing to leave. Wallet— in her pocket. Keys— in her hand. Gun— in its concealed holster and she heads out to the car as she continues. “Our parents are strong Royalists, and were angry when the Prince disappeared. It probably reminded Hiro of them, they’re still selling the old house in Arizona and he’s been missing them something terrible.”

It’s enough to placate the teacher, and she promises to keep Hana’s little brother calm until she can come get him. Before she pulls out of the driveway, she calls the Palace.

They insist on a move, sending her a new city, instructions as to which aliases she’s to use next. They’ll be going to Chicago, and she dreads telling her young charge.

Three hours of loading up the essentials and an excuse about a faulty spark plug later, Hana arrives at the school, hugs the Prince, and walks him out for the last time. The Security Team will cover her trail, making sure their leaving isn’t questioned, and as she pulls out of the parking lot, she looks at the boy in the seat next to her, taking in his red nose and puffy eyes, and she knows she’ll only contribute.

 

“I'm _sorry!”_ the Prince cries as they cross into Ohio. “I'm sorry I'm sorry _I'm sorry!_ I want to go back!”

Taking a shuddering breath, she opens her mouth to speak but then he’s shouting again.

“I'll tell her I was lying, I promise, I don't wanna move again!”

“Your Highness, I'm afraid I have ord—”

“Then I order you to go back!”

“It doesn't work like that, Sir, and I—”

“Why not?!” He’s almost hysterical, turning his entire body to face her as she keeps her eyes on the road. If she looks at him, she’ll start crying too, and that would be a mess.

“Part of keeping you _safe_ means keeping you _hidden,_ and away from Akitsushima, and that m—”

“I know what it means I want to go _home,_ though!!”

“I know you do,” Hana says, raising her voice for the first time. “I know, and I wish I could say we’re going home right now but we aren’t. We _have_ to run, Your Highness. We can’t stay in Philadelphia, if that teacher looks into what you were saying she might get even more suspicious. We have to _leave.”_

“I hate this!” he pouts. “I hate this and I want to go back to Hasetsu. Take me back!”

“I _can’t,”_ Hana says, doing her best to restrain tears. “I’m under orders from His Royal Majesty to keep you here, with me, until it’s safe and we’re given permission to return. This is how we stay safe. This is how we stay alive. By following orders.” Choked sobs come from next to her, Prince Yuuri having buried his face in his knees.

“May I be informal?” she asks. It comes out a whisper, sad even to her ears, but he slows his crying.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

“Your- _Yuuri-kun,_ I'm sorry. I wish I knew how to help you feel better, but I don't.”

“What's going on?” he asks. “Why can't we go home? I wanna know.”

“I don’t know, exactly,” Hana says. “I just know they believe it isn't safe for you yet.” Holding out her hand, she touches one of his. For a long moment it seems he’s going to ignore her, but he doesn’t jerk back at all, which is a good sign.

“Will you update me as you learn more?” he requests, wrapping his fingers around hers.

Mulling it over, Hana sighs and stares at the road. They haven’t ordered her to tell Prince Yuuri anything, and emphasized not stressing him out more than necessary. At the same time, they haven’t said anything about _not_ telling him what’s going on, and as far as stress goes, it’ll probably help if he understands. He’s old enough, now. It’s been almost four years since they’ve left and he’s grown in maturity by leaps and bounds, save for the occasional outburst. Today’s outburst, though, is understandable. He was given no warning, no chance to prepare to leave this life behind, and Hana feels absolutely terrible for pulling him away.

“I will,” she answers. “Whatever I can tell you, I will. I need you to know, though, that the Palace doesn’t tell me much at all, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers as fields fly by on either side, “thank you.”

 

~*~

 

From then on, she tells him almost everything she finds out, which is to say barely anything. Chicago is nice. Before they've even unpacked, Prince Yuuri has to sit through a lecture by the security team about what he can and can’t say or do in school. Much of it is stuff he already knows, that they’re repeating unnecessarily, but Hana can’t step in. He sits straight-backed in the chair as he listens to the phone, nodding with his affirmative responses, looking down with the negative. Though, out of necessity, Hana has allowed a more lax upbringing for him, he’s still every inch a prince and it shows when he allows it to.

He allows it to a lot less, though, unless they’re working on stuff.

Prince Yuuri’s thirteenth birthday brings with it a snow day, and when she lets him ride the toboggan, watches the joy on his face, she knows the Palace, as well-intentioned as they are, are slowly going to stifle him. Already, he sits dutifully during her lessons, takes on the expected airs at home, if a bit casually at times. Hana’s trying, though, and as far as she’s concerned, she’s doing well. She just hopes the Palace sees things the same way.

 

~*~

 

Surprisingly peaceful, their time in Chicago is originally intended to be short. The Palace has a list of other places, and they tell her, give her the next four identities they’ll be using a month before they’re scheduled to move. She doesn’t agree. Tired, frustrated, fed up with having to reestablish a home every few years while keeping such a close watch, she asks, for the first time, to talk to the King.

He grants her request.

It’s a direct line, and she’s glad Yuuri’s at school because she knows how awful he’d feel knowing she got to talk to his father when he was still forbidden. Still, the King is tired when he calls her back, and she can hear it in his voice but she has a point to make.

“We can’t keep doing this, Sire,” she says into the phone. “I understand the need for safety, but His Royal Highness is… It’s hard to describe. He won’t get attached to anything at all, in case we have to move again, and while I understand not wanting to tear him away from people and things he cares about should he need to go back, I… Sire, he’s young. He needs _connection,_ he needs to have fun, to be social and form solid relationships with people. We can’t keep him endlessly isolated, it’s not healthy.”

The King sighs on the other end of the line, and Hana can hear the creak of his desk chair as he sits down. “We’re still getting threats, Hana-san,” he says. “Most of them lead to dead ends or abandoned plots, but we’ve found some in motion.”

“Sire, I feel that His Royal Highness has been effectively hidden enough that he ought to be allowed a little extra freedom.”

“It was my understanding that he is allowed friends.”

“Sire, he’s too scared to make them! He’s not allowed on school trips, he’s not allowed extracurriculars— he wants to start skating again, for that matter— and he’s terrified that we’re going to need to pack up and move.” Hana knows she’s being pushy, but she doesn’t care as much as she should. “We knew when we arrived in— we knew when we arrived at our current location that it’d be a short stay, but as it’s been quiet I believe both His Royal Highness and I ought to be allowed to establish ourselves in a community and have some sort of stability. Sire, we were practicing the other day and he absentmindedly introduced himself as— with his assumed name instead of his real one, he’s… Something has to change.”

If the King gets upset at her tone of voice, she could be in a world of trouble but at this point, she’s missing human connection as well. Staying in one place would allow both of them some semblance of a social life, as limited as it will be. It’ll allow Hana to enjoy her twenties, Prince Yuuri to enjoy his teens, and they’ll be able to breathe for once.

Which is what she does when the King says she’s right, and promises to have a discussion with the security team.

 

~*~

 

At twenty-eight years old, Kataoka Hana is told she’ll be able to rest, inasmuch as she can, for the first time since she left home.

With the new orders comes the first phone call with his family the Prince has had in the five years since they left. He’s reduced to tears at the start, having missed them, and they spend hours talking. Hana is ordered to listen in, to stop any commentary that may lead to their location or aliases being given away. This includes weather patterns, landmarks— even the names of transportation systems are off-limits. Heavily censored, the conversation Prince Yuuri has with his family (and, later, the first one Hana has with her mom in years,) is reminiscent of letters from soldiers with key information redacted. It’s far better than nothing, though, and the smile on his face when he hangs up is brighter than she’s seen since they left.

She makes sure Their Royal Majesties find out.

With orders to move to Michigan comes permission for Yuuri to go on local field trips, so long as the security team is able to approve of the location ahead of time, and so long as Hana accompanies him, either in disguise or as a chaperone. She’s more than willing to do so, and she agrees readily to their demands. Their newest aliases are sent to her, the paperwork coming in an unassuming envelope from a fabricated insurance company. Inside are their documents, passports, birth certificates and the like, but when she looks at the names she lets out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

“Nee-chan?”

Yuuri walks in the door, having been shooting baskets in the backyard.

“Your Highness,” she says, “I have information about the upcoming move.”

“Oh?” he asks, setting the ball on the couch. “Are we still going to Michigan?”

“Yes, Sir, our identities have arrived.” She holds up the packet, shakes it as he glances at her hand.

“What names are we using now?”

“Katsuki,” she says. “Hana and Yuuri Katsuki.”

She's never been so happy to see her own name on a piece of government paperwork.

 

~*~

 

“You’re gonna call me by name for real?” Yuuri asks as they load up their suitcases. The house behind them is gutted, its contents having been donated to various organizations in the city, but there’s a sense of anticipation in the air rather than dread. A new beginning, it feels like.

“Unless that’s problem,” Hana replies, closing the trunk. Looking at her, the Prince shrugs.

“I kinda like it sometimes,” he mumbles. “It's nice, especially when I'm sad.”

Staring for a moment, Hana furrows her brow, getting into the driver’s seat of the car they’d been brought. A nameless agent had switched them out in the middle of the night, and she takes note they got her a model she’d shown interest in. Yuuri climbs in the passenger side, all awkward limbs and a small layer of baby fat curled up on the seat. The ignition is started, and they head out.

“Would you like me to use your name more often, Sir?” she asks.

Looking out at the Chicago skyline as it passes by, Yuuri nods. “Yeah, I think so,” he murmurs. “I mean, you're my big sister, right?”

The way he asks says he’s asking beyond their assumed identities, beyond the shared last name they pretend to have. He wants to know how she sees him, whether he’s anything but her Crown Prince. She smiles, pulling into their favorite coffee shop to pick up caffeine for the drive.

“I’d like to be,” she says, “if that's what you're comfortable with.” He must feel strange, breaching propriety in this way with her. Despite how they act in public, she has never been anything but his guard, and he has never been anything but her Prince. There’s a level of deference there that could end up seeming a lot smaller than it ought to, and it hinges on His Royal Highness’s response.

“I am,” Yuuri says as he pulls the coffee shop door open for her, smiles as she walks through. “Am I allowed to get coffee?”

She looks at him. “You can get a mocha with like, one shot of espresso in it, I don't need you bouncing around the car.” Yuuri sighs.

“Fine,” he says, turning to the counter with a smile. “I want a donut though.”

 

Two hours down the road, Yuuri is sitting with his feet on the dashboard, sipping the remains of his iced mocha as they drive around the southern edge of Lake Michigan. “Nee-chan?” he asks, voice small.

“What is it, Yuuri-kun?”

“Do you think we’ll be going home soon?”

He doesn't ask as often anymore, hasn’t asked for months, and Hana sighs as she passes a truck.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I honestly don’t know.”

“I don’t think it’ll be for a while,” Yuuri says after a long pause.

“It may not,” Hana replies. “We just need to do our best to be ready when the time comes.” It’s been five years, but it feels like an eternity. There’s a minute before the Prince speaks again.

“Can we get more coffee? And I gotta go to the restroom.”

Chuckling, Hana leans over and ruffles his hair. “Sure,” she says, “and we’ll grab something for lunch, too. Sandwiches sound good?”

Nodding Yuuri sits back in his seat and stares at the passing landscape while Hana finds a good place to get off the highway.

 

~*~

 

The first time the Prince has a panic attack, both of them are caught off-guard. Over time he’d grown more irritable, more jumpy, and at first Hana had attributed it to his nerves regarding a heavy investigation in Hasetsu. The investigation is long over, though, and His Royal Highness had only gotten more skittish.

She gets a call from his teacher. Her first assumption is there was another slip up and she hopes desperately that she’s wrong. If it is, Yuuri’ll be lucky to be allowed out of the house again. They'll be lucky to stay in the country.

It's not a slip, but the nurse is worried. In class, Yuuri had gotten more and more withdrawn until he was trembling in his seat, starting at his paper with wide, watering eyes. When Hana gets there, walking into the nurse’s office, Yuuri is rubbing his eyes behind the thick black frames of his glasses.

“Yuuri,” she says, rushing over. Her hands are cool from the chilled fall weather, she knows, but he makes no comment when she puts them on his cheeks. “Yuuri, what’s wrong, Hon?”

More tears make their way down his face as he shrugs, staring at his hands.

“You don’t know?”

He nods, rubbing his palm with his thumb.

“So that’s yes that you don’t have any idea?”

“I just said that!” he bites. “I don’t know!”

“I was just making sure.” With a look she tells him to watch his mouth, to be especially careful with how he speaks and acts in front of people. Biting his lower lip, the tears fall more as he visibly resists crying.

“I'm taking you home,” she says. Looking up at the nurse, she smiles. “I'm going to need to sign my little brother out of school, I'm sorry. I need to figure out what's up.”

“Does this happen often?” The nurse starts filling out a form, concerned.

“No,” Hana replies. “It might just be stress. I'll talk to him tonight.”

The nurse nods. “I'm going to recommend you keep him home tomorrow. This looks like some form of anxiety, and it may have to do with the recent move. Where did you say you moved from again?”

“Philadelphia,” Yuuri whispers.

“Philadelphia. Not too far, you're still pretty close to home!” Hana doesn't miss Yuuri flinch. “Still, Ms. Katsuki, Yuuri could do with a day off if he wants. I'll have his teachers get you some work together for him to make up what he misses.”

“I appreciate it,” Hana says. Breathing harder now, Yuuri stands and grabs his bag.

“I'd like to go home,” he whispers. “Nee-chan—”

“What’s nay-chan?” the nurse asks. Hana looks at her.

“We grew up speaking Japanese at home,” Hana explains. “It means ‘big sister.’”

“Well that’s sweet,” The nurse says. Taking the top piece of paper off her clipboard she walks over, handing it to Yuuri. “Anyway, hon, go home, spend time with your sister. Relax. You’re okay.”

Holding in a grimace, Hana puts her arm around Yuuri, turning him away from the nurse. “Thank you!” she says. When they get into the hallway, Yuuri pulls away, walking ahead of her until they get to the car. It’s something he does, when he needs some sort of control. Falling back on his title is easy, encouraged even, and he’s taken to doing so when he’s upset. Hana lets him, follows dutifully behind until they get to the car. He’s shaking, she sees when she unlocks the door. Wide eyes stare first at the handle, then the dashboard, and he pulls his knees to his chest, taking off his glasses and burying his face in his arms as he cries, taking gasping, heaving breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

They both gravitate into the kitchen when they're home, and Hana pulls out a rich black tea she likes when she’s stressed, putting the kettle to boil. Their usual mugs are set on the counter by Yuuri, who then walks to the fridge to get the milk.

“Your Highness,” Hana says gently, “would you like to talk about something?” Normally when he's upset she'd use his name, but he’s likely to take offense. Probably. Hana’s not entirely sure anymore, but she errs on the side of caution.

Glancing at her, the Prince seems to slowly mask over his feelings, face gradually taking on that aloof disinterest he manages when he’s distancing himself. He needs closeness, right now. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulls him to her. “Yuuri-kun,” she murmurs as he buries his face in her shoulder, “what happened?”

“We covered monarchies,” he whispers. “Discussed falls from power. Revolutions. Assassinations.”

“Oh, Yuuri,” she says. “Do you want to talk about it?” He shakes his head. Pressing a kiss to the top of his hair, she holds him while the water boils. His entire life he’s been preparing to rule, and for half of it he’s been on the run from an assassin, and Hana’s heart aches for him. She can’t do much to ease his pain, so she comes up with a proposition.

“After you’re feeling a bit better, do you want me to run to the store and grab some pork? I can make you katsudon.”

“Please?” he asks. Hana moves to turn off the water as it boils, pouring it into their mugs.

“Of course,” she replies, smiling.

 

~*~

 

“I wanna skate more often,” Yuuri says, standing almost imposingly in the kitchen as Hana cooks their dinner. At almost fifteen he’s growing into a strange mix of royal and decidedly _not._ He hasn't fallen out of the habit of expecting formal address much of the time (though he doesn't correct Hana anymore unless he’s in a mood) but his demeanor is consistently more casual than it once was. It’s hard to know if she should be concerned, but she resolves to work on it as best she can.

“The Palace is adamant that you not put yourself at risk more than they’ve permitted.”

He huffs. “It's _skating,_ Nee-chan. Please?”

Sighing, Hana looks at him. He doesn't usually get pushy about things, but during their time in Alpena he’s grown more and more eager to be on the ice. Perhaps it’s his nerves manifesting in a need to move, to get the excess energy out, and he typically ends up coming back feeling far better. More hours on the ice wouldn’t hurt, they both know that, and as long as he’s careful not to overwork himself he should be fine.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says. “I can’t make any promises, Your Highness.”

“I understand.”

Surprisingly, after another month of arguments with them, the Palace acquiesces, allowing Yuuri what rink time he wishes so long as he avoids overtraining and keeps his grades good, as well as staying on top of the lessons Hana’s giving him.

The Prince rises to the occasion spectacularly, and Hana smiles as he begins to manage the anxiety he seems to have. She debates talking to the Palace about some sort of therapist, someone for Yuuri to talk to outside of the psychiatrist they’d had her take him to. Extensive lies had been rehearsed, stories for Yuuri to tell that don’t give away the true triggers of the panic. Neither of them are particularly fond of it, but it’s what they need to do to keep him safe while getting him the care he needs. He has medication, now, for the panic when it gets too bad, though he does his best not to use it. They’re given information and resources, and coping mechanisms are tested and figured out, and Yuuri starts to learn to manage his nerves with his growing responsibilities.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri’s sixteenth birthday passes with little fanfare at home, Hana allowing him to invite a friend or two over to play video games for a few hours and eat pizza before they cut the cake she makes him. If they’d been home, the occasion would have been marked with fanfare as the people celebrated Yuuri taking more of a prominent position at his father’s right hand, in preparation for his accession to the throne. Instead, the King gives a speech while the nation does what little they can to mark the occasion. Watching, Hana wonders how the Royal Family feels, how much they really know about what’s been going on with their son. They’re certainly aware about the anxiety, prodding him gently with a few questions when they call on his birthday, but the speech the King gives says very little.

The Crown Prince is alive. The Crown Prince is safe, living somewhere with a loyal guard as he awaits the opportunity to return. He doesn’t elaborate any further, but moves into the family’s desire to bring the Prince home, their pain at missing him so dearly. Finally, he addresses a camera directly, and Hana pulls Yuuri into the room to watch his father’s yearly birthday message. For a while, it had been the only birthday message he got directly from his family. Though they tend to call, now, he still listens in eagerly.

“My son, Crown Prince Yuuri, on your sixteenth birthday I want you to know that we, your family, are incredibly proud of you. We admire your bravery, your determination and tenacity that is so reminiscent of the legacy of the Akitsushiman people and, specifically, your grandfather, the late King Noboru. We admire the progress you’re making in your studies both in school and those taken on in preparation for the day the crown passes to you. Your unique perspective and pure heart will do much to revolutionize our kingdom, and I have faith that when you return, you will be a Crown Prince unlike any other. Happy Birthday, Yuuri, and we hope you feel our love, wherever you may be. We’ll bring you home soon.” Behind him, the rest of the Royal Family nod their heads at the camera, and the address ends.

Yuuri, a complicated expression on his face, leaves the room to get ready to go to school.

 

Hana ends up at the high school hours later, dropping off the lunch he’d left at home. The office is almost empty when she gets there, but soon enough a cheerful middle-aged woman comes over.

“Hana,” she says, “are you here for Yuuri?”

“No,” Hana replies, “he forgot his lunch at home.” Holding up the bag, she smiles as the woman— Susan? Sharon? It doesn’t matter— beams.

“I’ll have someone take that right over to him,” she says, taking it from Hana. “I know how his stomach is with the school foods.”

Smiling, Hana nods, doing her best not to give the slight bow customary at home. She misses Hasetsu dearly, but she just thanks the woman with another grin.

“It’s no problem, sweetie,” she replies. “I have a question though? About Sachima.”

Nodding, Hana crosses her arms over her chest. “Sure, I can answer something. I haven’t been there too much, but I’ll do what I can.”

“Oh, it’s nothing big,” the woman says. “I was just wondering, your brother’s birthday is today?”

 _Oh, god, this is it._ Hana swallows the sudden nerves, nodding. “Yeah, it is. What’s up?”

It’s not hard to guess what’s up. This woman looks like the type to follow gossip blogs, and the King of Sachima’s yearly address to his missing son is a beloved tragedy when it comes to those sorts of websites. Another year without the Prince. Tragic. Terrible. He must be so lonely but about this one celebrity…

They disgust Hana, and she knows Yuuri’s disdain for them is unending. The mystery of the Lost Prince of Sachima has captured the public’s attention and they’ve dug through every scrap of publicly-available information in order to come up with new theories about him, new articles about how especially horrible it must be living in some military base or a cabin in the woods or wherever it is they think Yuuri might be this week, new analyses of his childhood and speculation of what he’s like now. His entire life has been dissected for the world to see, and it’s no wonder why he hates them so much, and probably the people who encourage it.

Sally or whoever walks over, smiling as she leans in conspiratorially. “Did you know he has the same name as the Prince of Sachima?”

A somewhat forced chuckle bursts from Hana’s throat, and she nods. “Yeah, I do,” she says. “Our parents are Royalists, and my mom went into labor like… a week late, but the day before the Prince was born? Not that anyone knew, the Palace keeps that sort of stuff private. Either way, My mom hadn’t chosen a name for him but when she heard the Prince had been born on the same day, she named him after the Prince. It’s kind of embarrassing for Yuuri, though, so don’t ask him about it or anything.”

Nodding in a distinctly exaggerated motherly-and-understandingly-way, the woman glances around. “I’ll keep it between us, then, I don’t want to embarrass the poor boy. He has enough trouble making friends.”

“Thanks,” Hana replies as sincerely as she can manage. “I appreciate it. Anyway, I have to go meet with someone but can you make sure my brother gets his lunch?”

“Of course,” the woman— Margaret, now that Hana’s seeing her name tag and she wonders how she was that far off— says as she claps Hana on the shoulder. “I’ll go take this myself, thanks for delivering it!”

“Thanks again,” Hana says as she leaves, waving at the secretary just entering from a different door.

Walking out to her car, she does her best to breathe. Her story was solid. There’s no reason to suspect anything, she’d set it up as not-a-good-thing, and she’s not reporting something this small to the Palace. They’re still jumpy, and Margaret believed her story readily. There’s no reason to worry, she tells herself.

 

~*~

 

Minako comes out, and they train Yuuri more strictly than he’s been trained in years, and it’s the worst mistake Hana’s made in a long time. Within months, Yuuri starts withdrawing into himself, stops asking Hana to use his name sometimes. He’s stressed, though, exams are coming up, and it’s easy to tell herself that he’s just stressed from school. Every challenge presented to him thus far he’s handled well, rising to the occasion with grace. Late spring hits, and with exams over it’s easy to see they aren’t the cause of Yuuri’s moods.

Though he’s conducting himself like the Prince he is, it’s with a cold distance Hana hasn’t seen in him before, one he hadn’t had as a child because he wasn’t quite capable of this level of aloofness. Distance turns into near-contempt, and Hana spends late nights drinking wine with Minako after Yuuri’s gone to bed, wondering what it is that’s causing it.

It’s a late summer day when they find out, and Minako’s well-intentioned discussion of his behavior turns into them realizing that though the Palace demands he be trained rigorously, they don’t know best. Hana and Minako make a promise to work harder to protect his interests, and for the first time in a long while Yuuri hugs her. She knows he hates hiding, knows he hates how he could more easily lie to an overeager museum guide than even think to tell the truth, and now she knows he needs a closeness he’s never been truly permitted, but that she and Minako are determined to give him.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri is allowed his driver’s license at seventeen, though Hana wonders if that would change if the Palace knew about him driving a tractor a few miles down the street with one friend in order to visit another. Either way, he gets a car shortly after. It’d be impossible for Hana to tail him otherwise, but he manages to pass it off as an extravagant gift from distant, yet wealthy parents. This newfound freedom, with the addition of a reputable Sachiman therapist working with Yuuri over a secured video line, means Yuuri finally starts to really come out of his shell. He works harder, excels in Social Studies, and gets himself accepted to college in Detroit after he graduates with honors.

This time, he helps choose the place to which they move. With both of them having cars, he’ll more easily be able to commute to school and Hana will be free to do her errands without working around his schedule. Yuuri settles happily into their new life, which is why it takes Hana by surprise when he sits down at the breakfast table with eggs, hashbrowns, sausages, and a steaming mug of coffee before announcing that he wants to try living on his own.

“I’m sorry, what?” Hana asks.

“Getting an apartment and living on my own. I want to see if I can do it.”

“And why is that?” Hana asks.

“Because I’m betting no one else in my family could,” the Prince says with a smirk, sitting back in his chair.

Hana raises an eyebrow before cutting into her egg. She knows for a fact no one else in Yuuri’s family would be able to live alone, but at this point he wouldn’t be either. He can barely wash dishes, Hana still does his laundry and the cooking that doesn’t involve a microwave.

“Don’t give me that,” Yuuri says jokingly, “I’ve been watching you for years. I can make sandwiches!”

“And what do you intend to do when you don’t have sandwich ingredients?”

“Takeout’s a thing,” Yuuri replies, shoving a sausage into his mouth.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Hana mutters.

 

~*~

 

At thirty-four years old, Kataoka Hana lives alone for the first time in her life. It's strange at first, and she worries endlessly, but Yuuri makes sure to keep her posted about his movements. For all his grumpiness with the Palace and their rules over the years, he takes his protection seriously.

He's spent over a decade having nightmares about them being found, taken, tortured and killed, and she’s not surprised.

Still, she’s grateful. She misses him, but their weekly meetings and the occasional dinner at Hana’s place with Minako are nice, almost mundanely domestic, and ease her worries. Yuuri flourishes.

When he tells her he wants to get a job, she helps him reason it through with the Palace. They eventually agree to limited hours and a small enough workplace he won’t be getting a lot of people in and out. Hotels are off-limits, diplomats and other high-ranking officials could stay on their travels, and they don't need him being seen by someone familiar enough with the King and Queen of Akitsushima that they can recognize their features in their son. Yuuri comes over the next week with a burgundy apron, a smile on his face, and a distinct glee at having been yelled at.

He doesn't get much of that, and he’s never stopped seeing his time in hiding as an adventure. As far as coping mechanisms go, there are far worse, and he never lets the fun he carves out for himself get in the way of his education.

 

~*~

 

At Yuuri’s apartment, the day comes when they think they’re alone but aren’t. His roommate overhears them, promises secrecy even as he confesses to listening, and gladly fills out the paperwork Hana shoves at him. If the Palace doesn’t approve, if something Phichit does makes them even think that he might give away Yuuri’s identity, they’ll have to leave again regardless of the conversations Hana’s had with the Palace. Yuuri gathers his things in anticipation, discreetly shoves the most important stuff in his suitcase for if they're sent away when the call eventually comes and when it does, in the middle of the night, Hana answers tentatively.

His Royal Highness is allowed to stay, the Palace says, but any slip-up on Phichit’s part will result in them moving as far as they can, as quickly as possible, and Yuuri won’t be allowed to live on his own again.

This will also reflect on Hana, they say, since she’s been so adamant that they should give Phichit a chance. She’s putting her job on the line— at this point they could switch her out and Yuuri’s more than old enough to be able to act the part of little brother to someone he doesn’t know. Luckily, that slip-up never comes, and something in Yuuri loosens up as he’s allowed to really be himself for the first time in years.

 

~*~

 

It’s two years later when Minako hears unconfirmed rumors about the King of Sachima and supposed health problems. Hana’s heard such rumors before in the tabloids, “breaking news” about a potential change in monarch is guaranteed to get them the sales they want, but as Minako’s passing it on from Lilia Baranovskaya herself, Hana more readily believes in the possibility. They tell Yuuri, and understandably he’s not happy. He takes on more studies, lets them give a more formal environment at home. It’s easy to see he has some discomfort with ordering Hana and Minako around like he would in court, but all the same, with their encouragement, he does his best.

He also starts requesting more free days, and as Hana watches him prepare to rule a kingdom, she’s inclined to let him have this, despite the protest crawling through her chest. Phichit, as sweet as he is, offers to practice as well, ensuring that he’ll be able to fit in should he visit Yuuri in Hasetsu. Yuuri doesn’t like it one bit, interestingly enough. There’s no issue with Minako and Hana using his titles, no issue when they’re used with the security team or his family, but with Phichit it’s different, and for the first time, Hana wonders how he’s going to merge the worlds he’s kept delineated so clearly for so long. Yuuri Katsuki, the barista majoring in Political Science. Crown Prince Yuuri, heir to the throne of Akitsushima. They’re the same person and yet even Hana sees a marked difference in how he plays each part.

Yuuri does his best to start preparing, to graduate from college, and Hana stays in contact with the Security Team as best she can.

 

~*~

 

At age thirty-six, Kataoka Hana watches her adopted little brother fall in love, and he falls hard. It’s late spring when he comes to her house, flushed from the unusually cold weather but with a sparkle in his eye that says there’s more. Hana takes one look at him, finishes pouring water into the teapot, and watches him set out the food he’d bought, before bringing tea over and sitting at the table.

“Who is he?” she asks.

“What?” Yuuri asks. “Who?” His blush spreads, though, and Hana smiles as she pinches his cheek.

“Whoever it is that’s got you smiling like this.”

“You wouldn't believe me,” he says, shy as he prepares his tea.

“Try me, Highness,” Hana prods.

“Viktor Nikiforov,” he whispers.

“No way! The figure skater you keep showing me?”

Nodding, Yuuri opens his food up. “He’s been training at Phichit’s rink, they’re competitors. We’ve been hanging out, and he’s been bringing me food and he comes by the café almost every day and gets ridiculously sweet drinks and— Nee-chan, he’s _wonderful.”_

“He’s a public figure,” Hana points out. There’s little chance of him knowing who Yuuri is, much less recognizing him, but he has fans, has followers, and Yuuri could easily get caught in the crossfire as it is. Being figure skating’s Living Legend’s boyfriend would be hard enough without having such an important secret.

“I told him the press make me anxious.”

“And how did you justify that?”

“He thinks I'm just a barista, Nee-chan, of course someone not used to the press could be made nervous by them. As far as he’s concerned, it’d be weird if I _had_ a press persona.”

“Ah,” Hana replies. “Of course. That slipped my mind.”

Yuuri chuckles. “Anyway, he’s promised as much privacy as he can give. He’s really nice and his dog… Makkachin’s so adorable, like a giant Vicchan! Very friendly, too!”

“Be careful, Your Highness,” Hana cautions. “He doesn’t know who you are.”

“I want to ask the Palace if I can tell him,” he responds. “I… I _want_ to tell him, even if… even if we don’t actually get together or anything, I care about him enough that… Nee-chan, I hate lying. I _hate_ it. And he- I- Will you help?”

“Help?”

“Get permission. Nee-chan, I think I love him. If this… if there’s even the possibility that he’d stay, I…” Sighing, he pushes his food around the styrofoam container. “If he’s going to hate me when he finds out I’d rather get it over with, to be honest.”

Anxiety has stolen his optimism, replacing it with a worst-case scenario, with some sort of assumption that things aren’t going to go to plan. It hurts. It’s been so long since Yuuri’s been allowed to hope that it almost seems he’s forgotten how. Still, she promises to help and after talking to Phichit to get an idea of Nikiforov’s character, she gears up for another round of fights with the Security Team.

 

~*~

 

It takes a while to get them the necessary paperwork, Yuuri having had to come up with an excuse to get Viktor to fill forms out (though this is made easier by one being dropped in his lap- Viktor wants to go to Sachima for Yuuri’s ‘study trip,’ though Yuuri and Hana both know that’s an excuse for Yuuri to go to Hasetsu without suspicion.) Once the paperwork is submitted, though, Hana expects the Security Team to do the checks and clear Viktor. They’re stubborn, and from the first time Viktor’s clearance request comes back inconclusive, Hana knows it’s going to be more of a fight than anticipated. Phichit’s scan had taken less than a week and been done without issue. There’s no telling what’s up with Viktor’s, but as it is, the Prince isn’t thrilled. As Viktor moves steadily from friend to lover, the security team are even less enthused, and getting them to perform the necessary scans is like pulling teeth.

It’s fall when Yuuri shows up at the restaurant they’re going to for brunch, blushing and giddy and Hana raises an eyebrow as he sits across from her. By now he knows she knows something’s up, he knows it’s almost impossible to hide things from her after their years together, and their coffee hasn’t even arrived when he’s leaning across the table.

“He kissed me,” he says, in quiet Japanese. “Vitya kissed me and he’s teaching me how to cook and it’s— Nee-chan, I—”

“You’re in love,” Hana smiles.

“I— well, I… I love him, I know that and… Nee-chan, do you think I could go see him compete sometime?”

“Yuuri-kun,” Hana admonishes, “you know how risky travel is, not to mention the amount of press that man attracts. Also, do you remember who his coach is? Not the skating coach, but ballet.”

“I—” He sighs. “Lilia Baranovskaya, I know, and— I mean, it’s been over a decade since she’s seen me. Going on two. I was what, six?”

“Seven.”

“Seven. Whatever. I’m twenty-two, now, I look nothing like I did when I was a kid. If I play my cards right—”

“It’s too risky, Yuuri-kun!”

“Nee-chan, I may not be able to! He’s —”

“Yuuri-kun,” she whispers, “let the security team clear him, first. Once he knows, we can request permission to tell Madame Baranovskaya and make sure she keeps it quiet, and then it won't look suspicious that your sister follows you everywhere while you dodge the press.”

He smiles at the waitress and thanks her as she puts coffee in front of them, but scowls once she leaves. “Fine,” he says. “We need to stay on top of this, now that we’re together…” Suddenly morose, he looks down at his coffee. “I hate this,” he whispers. “I haven't hated… _things…_ quite like this since Chicago.”

Hiding is getting to him, again, and Hana can sympathize.

“Can we talk about something else? Please?” His tone makes that a very strong suggestion, and Hana knows he’s trying his best not to make it an order.

“Of course,” she says.

 

~*~

 

The day Hana’s been dreading, praying wouldn’t happen, comes, and she has to tell Yuuri he’s going to go home to rule. Ideally, they’d have been home for years by the time he took charge. Hana had thought it would be worse telling him flat-out that he _was_ King, but seeing the acceptance of his fate, the way he gives up on trying to live completely normally and instead makes the best of his last bit of freedom before he gets pulled back into his royal duties, pulls at something in her.

It’s on his birthday of all days that he finds out he’s going to be King, and when Hana sees him after the Princess gives him the news her heart breaks. Though he’s holding up, something in him is dimmed, some hope, some light in him steadily fading with the imminence of his accession to the throne. Hana can’t think of anything worse than telling him they’ll have to make preparations to go home for his father's death, telling him about Vicchan had been hard enough, and then Minako asks how he wants to approach it. It’s a far more direct line of questioning than Hana had anticipated, but ultimately necessary. Yuuri seems to see that at their meeting, and instead of getting angry he listens to what they have to say. Where he’s had trouble facing some problems in the past, running when he got overwhelmed, this has him squaring his shoulders, sitting back in his chair as he takes on the air of authority his title demands, and tells them that it’s in his best interest to be prepared as possible.

He does his homework.

He goes to work.

He trains to be King.

He argues with the security team.

It’s an unending cycle as he spends what seems like his last days with Viktor, all the while cursing that he’s not able to say anything. His arguments get more and more frequent, and he slips into the manner expected of him more and more often. He’s distancing himself but trying not to, holding on to his closeness with Hana and Minako even as he re-orients himself to being one of the most powerful people in his country. In his practices, for the funeral, for his imminent coronation, for his return, he looks more and more the king he will soon become, and Hana’s heart aches even as it swells with pride.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri calls her one night, drunk and crying into the phone that he’s not ready. He’s capable, she knows it and tries to reassure as best she can, but he doesn’t _feel_ ready and for something like this, it’s impossible to imagine that he ever will. She offers to drive over, but he says he’s got work the next morning, that he has to see Viktor off as he leaves to compete at the Grand Prix Final in Sochi, and she tells him to come over for dinner the next night. Fifteen minutes before he arrives, she gets a text from the Security Team saying her flight tickets to and from Chelyabinsk are attached to her email, and she’s to tail him incognito. When he shows up, she sets her phone in front of him, email on-screen and asks him what it’s about.

“I’m going to see him,” he explains. “At Russian Nationals. I’m going to— Minako-sensei said she’d get someone to help me avoid the press.”

“This is risky, Yuuri-kun,” Hana says.

“Nee-chan, it’s my last chance. I don’t— I don’t know if he’s going to leave or if by some miracle he’s going to stay or if he’ll h-hate me, Nee-chan, _please!”_ Pleading, he does his best to restrain his tears.

Her face softens, and she makes her way around the table to wrap her arms around him. “Okay,” she says. “Alright, you can go. I’ll follow and keep you safe.” He wraps his arms around her and cries. She orders in, and the rest of the night is spent with her holding her terrified little brother in her arms.

 

~*~

 

In Russia, Lilia sees her shortly after Viktor leaves the arena after the short program. Even after all these years Lilia recognizes Hana and pulls her aside, says something about needing a favor, and explains that she knows. She knows who Yuuri is, saw that goose bite on his arm that Hana hadn’t realized she’d known about to begin with, and that she was going to keep the secret. Hana reassures her, in turn, that Yuuri wants Viktor to know, that Viktor won’t be pressured into anything he doesn’t want, and Lilia’s sigh of relief is the last Hana hears from her for months.

When Yuuri drops by before going to Viktor’s house the night before he leaves, she reassures him. She tells him she’ll take care of everything here, that she’ll take care of giving his car to Phichit, getting rid of the unneeded remnants of a life he’d fallen in love with. Of the life that had given him love, and as he clings to her jacket, much taller now than when they’d left home, she thinks back on the years in between.

 

~*~

 

Two days later, Yuuri is King.

He calls her in between meetings on his first day, grieving and tearful with exhaustion. She whispers love into his ear, whispers reassurance, reminds him that he’s not alone and that his family is there and that he’s home and that she’ll be joining him soon.

She doesn’t ask how Viktor took the news, but he tells her anyway; Viktor’s staying, for now. He’s at least letting Yuuri explain, and Yuuri is terrified of what’s going to come of that. Hana does what she can to reassure him, reminds him that she’ll be out once she’s taken care of everything in Detroit and that she’s here for him.

Viktor stays in Hasetsu and the relationship itself, contrary to all of Yuuri’s anxiety-driven speculation, and she can hear the relief in his voice as he tells her. His near-daily calls turn into a few times a week, but they text almost constantly. She’s the first person he texts with his new phone number, and he sends photo and video updates when possible. Some of them are memories they share of when he was a child, and others bring a sense of painful nostalgia. He tells her, at first, how disorienting things are. How everyone deferring to him feels like a strange sort of familiar and how everything feels so right yet jarringly _wrong_ at the same time. He tells her how Viktor’s doing, how he’s adapting and how well he’s doing getting into the swing of Palace life while still training for competition. Eventually, Hana gets orders to return to Hasetsu, and to bring Phichit Chulanont and, thankfully, Makkachin with her.

Gladly, she allows herself to be picked up by the security agent, lets Makkachin crawl onto her lap as she and Phichit head to the airport to see Yuuri again, now King of Akitsushima. The private jet they’re on, one of the Royal Family’s own, is brimming with an opulence Hana hasn’t seen in years. Phichit is stunned when he gets on, seeing the plush couch, the soft leather chairs around a small table. Makka curls up next to him, when he can, and they talk. For thirteen hours, around a few naps, Hana tells Phichit about the Palace and what’s to be expected. She talks about her interactions with the Royal Family, how her experience as a guard would differ from Phichit’s as an honored guest of the King, and how to talk to the staff, especially. He takes it all in stride as they do what they can to stay occupied, playing cards and video games, and eating the three-course meal specially made for them. It’s a chicken dish, Phichit being Hindu means the Palace has accommodated his dietary needs, and as delicious as it is Hana knows it pales in comparison to the food served at the Palace itself.

 

~*~

 

Yuuri looks much like she expected when they land, but not quite. Though he’s regal, standing in the traditional clothing of the Akitsushiman court with a glimmering crown on his head, the shine in his eyes is purely _him._ There’s nothing royal about the way he runs over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. His new title is uncomfortable on her tongue, but she manages, and he chats with her and Phichit excitedly as they head back to the Palace.

The first dinner in Hasetsu is awkward. Hana’s mother is out of town, and won’t be back for a little, so Hana eats with the Royal Family. As close as she is to Yuuri, and as sweet as the Queen is with her, the Princess is decidedly colder. Indignant, she asks Yuuri how he could possibly let his guard speak to him in such a familiar tone and Yuuri, instead of caving and scolding Hana as everyone expects, wheels on his sister and tells her on no uncertain terms that she is to allow Hana certain liberties as far as addressing him goes. He makes it painfully clear that he’ll suffer no interference in his relationship to Hana, and it’s a source of comfort Hana hadn’t known she would need. The Queen and the Princess both outrank her, by miles, and have every right to get offended by how she treats her King, until he takes that right away.

Hana is his sister, he makes that clear to them, and for the first time, Hana can see resentment in the Princess’s eyes.

 

~*~

 

Over time, she settles into the familiar routine of life at home. Yuuri won’t allow her to go without a vacation, and as much as she stubbornly refuses, she has to admit the time off is nice. There’s a niggling sense of guilt, though; Yuuri didn’t get time off, got thrown headlong into ruling a country, and instead of considering retirement, she asks if she can continue as his guard. It’s not full-time, not like it was, and it feels strange when she remembers she’s not all that’s in between him and the world.

Takeda’s threats are a sobering reminder that even here, she can’t keep her little brother and his boyfriend safe. Later, the suspicions regarding her mother terrify her even as she tries not to believe without slipping into willful ignorance and Yuuri does his best to make sure Hana doesn’t feel any sort of blame. Viktor, as well, holds no ill will, and their bond seems only to strengthen in the face of these challenges. Though they consistently talk about each other as their boyfriends, Hana has her suspicions when she sees the matching necklaces they have, confirms it with Minako who shrugs and says the less they know for sure the better right now. Yuuri’s working to establish himself and Viktor as a pair while he leads the country he barely knows through a turbulent time. It doesn’t help that he was the Lost Prince, that Akitsushima as a country is thirsty for every scrap of information they can get about him.

He stands firm, though. He works to improve the lives of his people, he works to bring the monarchy into the modern age, he works to get the kingdom to accept his relationship with the man who’s given so much just to be with him, who’s rising to the occasion of his boyfriend’s accession to a throne with such grace it’s almost inhuman. Hana’s seen Viktor’s public persona before, has watched interviews and media coverage endlessly trying to get an idea of who he is, but she knows the world knows very little of the strength he carries.

Viktor was a pillar of strength for Yuuri during the period just after he took the throne, still is in some ways, and they’ve grown to lean on each other. Yuuri does his best to support his boyfriend (fiancé, Hana’s sure by now) as he first takes gold at both of his final competitions, as he trains his little cousin in an unexpected boot camp of sorts while still performing what royal duties he can. Though it’s not always easy, he never falters, never gives up, and when Hana sees them dancing at a ball that feels more like waltzing through a minefield, she knows.

They’ll be okay.

They’ll be okay, because they’re together, and the smiles on their faces say that even in such a turbulent time, they’re so incredibly in love that to consider breaking it off is out of the question.

She knows Viktor will be okay, because Yuuri encourages his independence, encourages his skating, encourages him to come out of his carefully cultivated shell and experience life on more genuine terms while making his transition as easy as possible.

She knows Yuuri will be okay, because Viktor has never once blamed him, has never once made him resent his title, and has made it clear that he knows of Yuuri’s honesty and willingness to help when and where he can. He’ll be fine because he has his family, he has her, he has Viktor, and there’s a strength and determination in him that’s simmering under the surface, that Viktor loves and respects just as much as Hana does. Yuuri’s going to be okay because he found someone who sees him as a person, first and foremost, and who loves him in all his talents and flaws.

It’s going to be okay because the Princess comes to accept their relationship, because Yuuri’s family learns to respect Hana’s closeness to him, because when she and Yuuri and Viktor are on a plane, flying to Russia for Yuuri’s first trip abroad since Hana had taken him to the United States, she looks over and can see the love in their eyes. She can see Viktor, with an unusually soft smile, cradling Yuuri as the credits of a movie roll on the television. He whispers something in Yuuri’s ear that makes Yuuri blush, scowling before he pecks Viktor’s nose and giggles, and something in Hana feels warm and comforted and satisfied.

She’s brought Yuuri home, engaged and safe and happy and so very different from when he’d left, and all the better for it, and the smile on his face as the three of them eat dinner together on the plane reminds her that she wouldn’t be able to regret her decision to go with him for the world.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who reads the chapter titles will notice the (Part One) at the end of this one!! That's because part two will be written around or after the conclusion of TNOT, in order to avoid spoiling the rest of the story. I'm excited to publish it though ~~even if all I have down is the first sentence~~!!!!
> 
> I want to thank Isis for doing the beta-ing thing so wonderfully, as she usually does.
> 
> Thanks to Riki for giving me a reason to finally get this down on the page!! I hope you enjoyed!!! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡♡♡♡♡♡
> 
> The next chapter of TNOT will be out in two weeks, and it carries _quite a punch,_ if I do say so myself.  
>  (˵ ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°˵)ﾉ⌒♡*:･。.


	7. Otanjoubi Omedetou!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri does his best to show his adopted sister how much he loves her, while reflecting on attempts of the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> お誕生日おめでとう（ございます） (Otanjoubi Omedetou (Gozaimasu)): Happy Birthday
> 
>  **Timeline:** This takes place about a year or so before The Nature of Things.

Cool spring wind slithers through the open neck of Yuuri’s jacket as he makes his way into the bakery. The familiar jangle of the bell gets the attention of an older woman smiling behind the counter. 

“Yuuri!”

“Hey, Mrs. Ashworth,” he says. “Um, I'm here to pick up the pie.”

“Of course,” she says, “for Hana’s birthday!”

Yuuri nods. She pronounces Hana’s name like an American, the a’s a bit flatter than they ought to be, but she's sweet so neither Yuuri nor Hana bother to correct her.

“I brought you and Mr. Ashworth some coffee.” He holds up the cups he’s carrying, hot even through his knit gloves. “I made them right before I left, so they’re as fresh as possible.”

“You're such a sweetheart,” she says, taking the drinks. “I'll be back in a jiffy.” 

In short order, she walks out from the back with a cardboard pie box tied with a ribbon. Another box is under it, and as Yuuri goes to protest Mrs. Ashworth shakes her head. 

“I insist on a few pastries and some cupcakes, it's our birthday gift to her. I put some peach cobbler in as well, I know how much you like it.”

Laughing, Yuuri scratches the back of his head. “Honestly, I don't mind paying,” he says. 

“Hon, I'm not about to charge you for this and if you keep up your complaining I won't let you pay for the pie, either.” She tucks everything into a plastic bag, including paper plates and cutlery, and goes to the register. Yuuri pays with his card but tips generously with cash, tucking a fifty into the tip jar when Mrs. Ashworth is looking away.

The pie and pastries go on the seat next to the tea he made, and on his way to Hana’s apartment he picks up take-out from their favorite restaurant. It’s become a tradition of sorts, though it hadn’t always been. When he was younger, every year, Hana would make Yuuri katsudon and a cake on his birthday. The drinks that accompanied dinner changed according to his taste, the flavor of the cake as well, but always they would celebrate with his favorite movie, katsudon, and candles and cake. She wanted to make sure he still enjoyed his birthday after the early-morning crying jags his father’s yearly speech sent him on.

It had taken a few years before he’d wondered if she had a birthday to celebrate. She’d looked surprised when he’d asked, and had responded with a date in late April. It was early May at the time, and he’d felt  _ bad _ when he’d realized that for a few years she’d been marking her own birthday by “spontaneously” baking an apple pie, and not much else. He’d resolved to change that the next year.

 

When he pulls into the driveway, Hana’s just walking in from getting the mail, stepping onto the lawn and waving as he puts the car in park.

“Nee-chan,” he says when he gets out, “Happy Birthday!!”

Smiling, she opens her arms, letting him hug her tightly. Hoisting her around the waist, he picks her up, spins her in a circle as she laughs. “Thank you!” She says. “Do you need help in?”

“That’d be nice.” Reaching into the car, Yuuri pulls out the drinks in their tray, handing it over. He grabs his messenger bag and the pastries and food, kicking the door shut and following Hana into the house.

“I got us Sachiman food. Also Mrs. Ashworth keeps giving us extra pastries and now there’s a peach cobbler in there for me and apparently cupcakes?”

Chuckling, Hana takes the bakery bag from him. “She tends to do that.”

“Yeah, but I feel bad so I tipped her fifty bucks.”

“You can’t keep doing that,” Hana says. “They know you work at the café, you shouldn’t have this much spare cash.” She sets the bag on the counter, and grabs porcelain chopsticks out of the cutlery drawer.

“Nee-chan, they know our- my parents are rich, they shouldn’t get too suspicious.”

“Alright then.” Taking her place across from Yuuri, Hana accepts the styrofoam containers he hands her, opening them up and arranging them around her place. Yuuri hands her napkins, pulls his own food out, and gets started.

 

The dishes are done after dinner, Yuuri diligently washing them and arranging them in the dishwasher as Hana looks on.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” she says.

“I do most of the dishes in the apartment,” he replies, “what with Phichit doing most of the cooking. That and we have to keep our workstations clean at the café, so I’ve gotten into the habit.” He’d tried doing them the first year they’d celebrated, in an attempt to be nice, but at the time he’d still known nothing about housework beyond tidying up. He’d ended up breaking three glasses and chipping a plate, and Hana had kindly taken over as he pouted in the corner. The card he’d bought had gone over better, he’d picked one in Japanese and written in the language of their homeland. The store he’d snuck into in the mall to get the card had also had a selection of gifts and trinkets, and while he hadn’t had a debit card at the time, he’d had plenty of cash.

Most of it was meant for an emergency, but Hana was one store over and could give him more if he asked, so he looked over the selection without worrying too much. There’d been nothing that had caught his eye, at first. Little figurines of angelic children and their pets were out, Hana’d never cared much for those sorts of things, as far as Yuuri could tell. Music boxes, jewellery stands, candleholders… None of it was appealing until he’d come over to a glass case. Inside was a bejeweled cherry tree, miniature blossoms carved out of rose quartz with tiny leaves made of some green stone. The trunk, gold (or gold-plated, Yuuri couldn’t tell) twisted its way up, the branches spreading out nicely to display the beauty on them and Yuuri’d known at that point, what he wanted to buy.

Hana cried when she opened it. “Your Highness,” she’d said, “this is too much.”

“Cherry trees are your favorite, though,” he’d replied. In his early teens, he’d had an idea of money and buying gifts for people. He wanted to make Hana happy. It was hard to see why she’d have thought it too much, until she’d heard how much he’d spent and explained. Persuading her to keep it was tough, but he managed after promising he wouldn’t be so extravagant again. As bad as he felt, though, she hadn’t let him dwell on it. As she served up the apple pie she’d made, he’d seen her glancing at the tree, set nicely on their breakfast bar, her smile growing each time.

 

Yuuri shoves candles into the still-warm pie, and Hana blows them out without prompting, letting him serve them up.

“Do you remember the year you tried to make one?” She asks.

“You mean the year before I moved out? Yes.” Yuuri blushes as he pulls ice cream out of the freezer, putting a hefty dollop on each piece of pie. He’d tried to make one, and failed miserably, even with store-bought crust and pre-cut apples. Hana wouldn’t have known, had she taken the expected two hours to run the few errands she’d needed to, but instead she’d gotten everything done as quickly as possible, arriving home a mere hour after she’d left.

When she’d walked in, Yuuri’d been covered with syrupy apples, the torn remains of a pie crust in his hands, and instead of getting mad at the mess, she’d laughed and told him to go pick one up while she cleaned. He’d gone to the bakery they usually grabbed pastries at and picked up food on the way back since Hana had to spend time cleaning instead of cooking like she’d planned, and a new tradition was born. 

Now, though, she’s smiling fondly as she remembers. “I thought it was sweet,” she said.

“You had to scrub the floor on your birthday,” Yuuri replies, setting her plate and a fork in front of her.

“You tried to bake a pie for me, even though you’d never made one before. Really, Yuuri-kun, the thought behind the gesture was sweet.”

Yuuri nods, blushing, before he reaches into his messenger bag. “I got you something,” he says.

Hana raises an eyebrow. “Is it a car?”

“A yacht, actually,” Yuuri jokes, before pulling out a small box and handing it over. The last part of their little tradition is a cheesy, inexpensive gift. Hana had loved the tree figurine, yes, but three hundred dollars was a lot to spend on something that, in the worst-case scenario, could easily end up abandoned if they had to run, and Hana had felt bad about being unable to reciprocate properly. So they went to the other extreme. Gifts couldn’t cost more than twenty dollars without good reason, and Yuuri’d had fun exploring the incredibly-limited options.

He knows, though, that Hana’s been missing him by now. He knows she’s never lived alone, and that she worries when he’s not near her. He knows she loves their closeness, but worries about how it will change when Yuuri inevitably returns to his place at his father’s side. What he wants  _ her _ to know is that she’s important to him, through and through.

“Number one big sister?” She reads as she pulls the mug out of the box. 

“Yeah,” Yuuri says. “I know it’s cheesy, but…”

Smiling, she gets up from her place, walking around the table to hug him. “I love it, Yuuri-kun,” she whispers, setting it in front of her place. Yuuri will make coffee for them later, for them to share while they eat cupcakes after the movie, and he’ll use Hana’s new mug to make her the best cup he can manage.

“Happy Birthday, Neechan,” Yuuri says as they dig into the pie, “and thanks for everything.”

She grins, mouth full of apple pie (and she loves it, this bakery is her favorite so Yuuri knows she’s savoring it,) as she nods, chews, and swallows. “Thank you,” she says. “It’s another good one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the holidays TNOT is slow going, but I wrote this a while ago and thought I'd slap this bad boy in the story. Hanazakari will.... eventually be reordered to be at the end.
> 
> TNOT will be out................ as soon as I can finish this chapter. It's going alright though!!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!! I can be contacted on tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon.](we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com)


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